Breathe for Mercy
by story2tell
Summary: Running from a world of pain and terror, Mercy finds refuge in an unlikely home. But the Cullens are unaware of the wicked web she's tangled in. They don't know what she has done, what she is capable of doing. 'This is my story, my nightmare'
1. Chapter 1

_It's hard to see the light when you're covering you eyes._

_It's hard to hear the song when you're covering you ears._

_It's hard to walk when there's no where to go._

_It's awfully hard to breathe when you don't know how._

I woke to see Aimee creeping back into the room. The front of her pajama top was wet, as if she had spilled water on herself while washing her face, or maybe she had tried to clean some puke off her. Which was possible, giving her drunken condition earlier. I sat up and watched her walk. She was steady, not tripping or banging into anything.

She saw me sit up and sank onto her bed. "I'm scared," she said, like a child who's woken from a vague but frightening dream. "I'm scared," she repeated.

I struggled out from under my tangled sheets and blankets and sat next to her. "I'm here." I had woken to the memory that she'd been ticking me off before she fell asleep, and I wasn't sure why. I did know, looking at her in the light from the streetlamp outside, that I didn't want her to be in pain anymore. She was big-eyed, quiet, almost stunned, but underneath there lurked something that made me uneasy. I put my arm around her and pulled her against me. "Everything will be fine," I said.

And I thought I was right. She looked like my old friend, not like the stranger she had been earlier.

"I know," she whispered. "I'm glad you're here." She rested her head on my shoulder. She didn't smell of puke, so I guessed the water came from her trying to bring down the swelling and redness in her eyes. She wasn't crying at least. "I'm sorry I'm such a bitch, and I don't—" She stopped.

"I don't what?" I asked, cringing as she cussed. My Jewish upbringing was to blame for that.

She yawned and said, "I don't think I could have come this far without you as my friend. Will you stay with me tonight? One last time?"

"What a weird thing to say, one last time. Of course I'll stay. Tonight and any night you need me. But why should this be the last time?" Something inside me jerked awake, something I had let sleep or maybe was hiding beneath my anger. Warning lights, sirens, bells, everything started clambering in my jittery mind.

Before I was concerned about Aimee. Now I was terrified for her. "What do you mean, Aimee? One last time?" My hands shook as I twisted her shoulders so that she faced me.

She looked blank, unaware of what she had said.

"What do you mean?" I asked again.

"I need it to end, and I can't. Not without your help. Not without you here. It's so dark and scary doing it alone."

I grabbed her wrists, then dragged her to the desk. She hadn't cried out, and neither wrist felt wet or sticky, so I didn't think she had slashed them, but I had to be sure. The light blinded me as I clicked on the desk lamp, but immediately I could see there was no blood, no gaping wound. So this was still just talk.

"No, Aimee. Not that. I can't do that. You're my best friend." I closed my arms around her. "I can't live without you. I'll help you live, not here, if that's what you want. I'll support you any way I can, tell them I've seen her come for you, tell them I've seen her beat you, tell everyone about what happened until they believe it, but I need you alive. We all do. Chad—"

She snorted. The light had made her blink, but if anything she seemed more groggy than before. "I'm not your best friend. Chad's your best friend. And don't kid yourself. Remember scary problem number fifty-nine? Overpopulation results in worldwide famine and epidemics. We either (a) survive, or (b) die." She yawned again and leaned against me, heavier this time.

I stroked her hair, although I wanted to yank it out by the roots I was so mad at her for twisting everything.

"You're good at that," she continued. "Surviving. Not me. But you know, I can't do it alone. Just can't. So you'll have to stay. Please stay."  
"Aimee, I can't take this. Snap out of it. Your dad will be home tomorrow, and we're going to tell him, we will. We'll support you one hundred percent."

"Then support me how I want you to support me. I can't do it your way. Hell, I can't do it at all. I'm tired. Tired of everything. And none of this—" She waved an arm at her room, but her hand flopped on the end of her arm like a dying fish.

I shivered watching her.

"I have to sleep. But you have to stay with me so I can do this," she murmured.

"Aimee, I will not help you. You have to fight, darn it. You have so much going for you. You just wait. Things will look brighter in the morning. You'll come home with me. I don't care what my mother says, and you'll see, things will be better. Heck, you might even meet Mr. Right." I glanced at her, knowing that I sounded like an idiot, like someone offering comfort without meaning any of it. But I meant all of it. Things would get better. They had to.

"I just want to sleep. Guys are pains in the asses. I'm going to lie down." She didn't say anything about Chad, but I wasn't sure whom she was referring to. I needed to be sure she wasn't talking about him. I was obsessing and hating myself for it.

"All guys? Even Jason, Kyle, and Chad? Aren't some guys worth it?"  
"Nothing is worth it anymore. Let me sleep. You have to stay, though. Have to stay. Help me do this, okay? And everything will be alright."

"No, I will not help you kill yourself." I still didn't, at that point, have much a clue about what exactly she was talking about. Did she mean help her slice her wrists? Hold her hand while she did? Watch her die?

I remembered the razor blade I had taken from her. I didn't want to spend the rest of the night staring into the darkness, making sure she didn't sneak off to find another to use. I'd check the bathrooms for razors now. "I'm going to the bathroom to pee. Pull yourself together, Aimee," I said as I stood up.

"Bring me the bottle on the sink," she muttered without raising her head. "I want to take something."

My mouth went dry. Drier than when I had found the razor in her hand and saw her pretending to cut. Drier than when she had asked me to help her die. Then I felt nausea sweep over me, and the salvia ran wild in my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed again, edging toward the door, trying not to hurry. Trying to see her and leave the room at the same time. "What bottle?" I called, with my foot out the door, my body ready to bolt for the bathroom.

"Bottle on the sink. Very important. Stupid stepmother should never leave sleeping pills out with kids in the house. Never. Never. Never. How many times will they replace her lost pills?" Aimee started to laugh, a deep gagging laugh. She coughed, sat up for a moment, then rolled back onto the bed.

I raced for the bathroom. I didn't walk into or stop in any other rooms. I told the police that. I told the court that. I wasted no time trying to discover what she was talking about, but even then, I thought I just need to hide the bottle, that she hadn't taken anything or done anything. She needed me there to do it. She said so herself. What else could she mean by "Stay with me tonight? Help me die?"

On the floor of the bathroom were a billion pieces of glass. Since she had left the smaller bathroom light on, I managed to see it before I stepped on it. My hands sprang out from my sides and grabbed the door frame, halting me midstep. I stood panting and stared.

The mirror over the sink had been shattered. I saw my eyes, wide and startled, in a dozen places when I bent down. My nose, big and little, my hair, and my cheeks fragmented as I swung my head from side to side in disbelief. The noise of Aimee breaking the mirror should have woken me, and maybe it had. But then, why didn't I remember anything before she crept back into the room? I racked my brains, trying to figure out when she had done this. How she had done this. Her feet hadn't been cut, so she hadn't walked in the bathroom. Then I saw that mixed with the mirror's shards were pieces of the drinking glass that usually stood on the sink. She must have thrown it at the mirror.

I also saw fragments of what appeared to be one of the family photo albums. Judging from the little I could piece together of the pictures, it was her father and stepmother's wedding album. Every picture of her stepmother had been cut into tiny fragments. The picture of Aimee's dad and brother were mostly intact.

There were no remains of Aimee anywhere.

But the bottle was there. A little brown plastic bottle, the kind that holds antibiotics. I strained forward, so tense everything shook, but I couldn't reach it.

With my body wrenched sideways to close it, I tried to shut the toilet lid so I could stand on it and grab the bottle. When I looked down, I froze. Inside the toilet bowl floated three or four slashed versions of Aimee. All had been carefully cut from a larger picture, and all had been sliced into ribbons. I reached into the water and pulled out one of the mutilated pictures.

I was almost unaware of my tears as I picked up the bottle. There was no rattle of pills, no weight to the bottle at all, and the prescription had been soaked in water or something so that I couldn't read it.

"Aimee!"  
I felt devoid of hope.

"Aimee!" I screamed again, feeling as though my limbs were being pulled in opposite directions like a puppet in a warped play.

I thought of all the things she had said earlier that had infuriated me, and I wondered if it was part of her plan, to make me so angry I wouldn't pay attention to what she was doing.

Whether that was true of not, she had already carried out the other part of her plan.

She had taken the pills.

My head cleared in a spasm of guilt. Here I was standing and staring at broken glass trying to figure out if she had lied about her and Chad.

I need to get to Aimee. I needed to get help.

Panic overwhelmed me, and I lunged for the door, landing on a shard of glass. I stopped to pull it out, with blood seeping across my fingers and down the insides of my hands. But I didn't stop to bandage the gash in my foot. I didn't wince or hobble when I ran. That would have taken time, and I had none.

"Aimee!"

She wasn't answering.

"Aimee!" I shrieked from the door of her room. I held up the bottle for her to see but, of course, she didn't see it.

She was lying facedown on the bed, an arm sprawled above her. Her back rose, fell, rose, fell, but slowly, too slowly.

I rolled her over and came face to face with despair. A long slug trail of vomit slithered down the side of the bed. I had planned on making her throw up, but she already had. It was the only thing I knew to do that would slow things down and get some of the drugs out of her system.

No pills were visible in the slime. How long did it take to digest them? Could all of the poison be in her system already? Had she chewed them to get them into her body faster?

"Oh God! Oh God!" I cried, my hands dancing through the air.

"Aimee," I said louder, closer to her ear.

She didn't respond.

I pulled her mouth open to shove my finger down her throat, thinking maybe she hadn't thrown up enough. If she did it again, maybe the pills would come up. "Try again! Throw them up! Come one, Aimee! You've got to be okay." I pushed her up, and she slumped forward.

There was blood on the bed, and I searched her body for the wounds, then the room to wrap whatever was bleeding on her. It was then that I saw my trial of bloody footprints on the floor and realized the blood on the bed was mine.

Then I saw the phone.

I lowered Aimee back onto the bed and jumped for the phone. Aimee groaned, and I turned back to her, grabbing her shoulder, slapping her face lightly, trying to get a response. "How much of this stuff did you take? Answer me! Answer me!"

But she didn't. She couldn't.

She didn't groan again.

The phone. I picked it up, tried to dial, but somewhere in the house Aimee had left a phone off the hook.

"Idiot!" I screamed. "Why did you do this?" I was hobbling and crying, snot ran down my face. I raced from room to room.

I did, too. Whatever the police said and her parents' attorneys say, I did check everywhere I could think of for the disengaged phone. I didn't save her, but I did that. My bloody footprints were everywhere in the house. Everywhere. Not because I freaked out and was chasing Aimee to make her take pills. Which some idiotic newspaper reporter said I did. Was he there, or was I? I was checking for a phone that worked. I even crawled under the tables and beneath beds to make sure the phones I found were plugged in.

And all the phones were on the hook. Except the portable. Which I couldn't find.

The clock said four A.M. Maybe some insane commuter would be up or I could wake one up. I opened the front door to an empty street as if to run out, but then I turned back. I couldn't leave her alone.

This is where I failed. Here was where I made the wrong choice, did the wrong thing. I should have kept going, but I wasn't thinking. I was reacting, and what I reacted to right then was leaving Aimee alone when she had begged me not to and explaining to everyone later that she died alone.

I would check on Aimee first. I had to see if there was anything else I could do, should do before I abandoned her to find help.

So I spun around and slammed the door. I flew back up the stairs, three at a time—according to the report and the footprint analysis. I was planning on making her drink something before I left. Anything. Coffee. Her full mug was still on the desk. I'd force some down in her to counteract with the pills, but who was I kidding? A cup of coffee against a bottle of sleeping pills?

I raised her head, tried to support her with my shoulder while I cradled her from behind. I opened her jaw with one hand and dumped coffee through her lips with the other.

Her throat didn't respond to the cold coffee dribbling through her pried open lips. She didn't swallow.

I tried to make her vomit again. That's when her bladder let go.

Later, in court, I learned that this is a normal part of death when someone takes sleeping pills. At the time, I was horrified, disgusted, and positive this was not a good sign.

I hugged her, with a finger on her pulse, trying to be sure she was still alive, thinking I'd do mouth-to-mouth until I found the phone, not even understanding that I couldn't do both.

When her bowls released, I knew I was done for. I wouldn't have my best friend anymore. I was screaming, shrieking, moaning. Keening might be the right word for what I was doing, but I don't remember exactly.

Aimee's window was open partway. It always was, and I thought someone would hear me. Some jogger, somebody walking a dog. I couldn't see the clock. Couldn't let go of Aimee. She was gurgling now, and I thought I should lay her down. So I draped her unmoving body, heavy in its stillness, across my legs, where it weighed me down and put my legs to sleep.

My screams weren't even making Aimee twitch.

I had forgotten all about escaping out the front door, running away to find someone else to take care of this mess. Someone who knew better what to do. All I knew, lying there listening to her labored, slowing, ending breathing, was that I was losing the dearest thing in my life, and there was nothing I could do.

Nothing would stop it. Even if I managed to find help now, looking at her bluing lips, I, who had never seen death, knew she was beyond help.

"Help me! Oh, God! Don't do this. Don't take her. Chad? Kyle? Jason? Kates? Where is everyone? Why doesn't anyone come? Why is this happening? I hate you, Aimee! I hate you!"

I screamed on and on, and eventually, when Aimee's eyes were fixed and dilated, when she was cold and blue and filthy and beginning to stiffen up in my arms, someone heard.

There was a pounding at the door, but I would have had to let go of Aimee to let them in. And I couldn't.

I just kept screaming, incoherent rages against God, the country, and everyone in between.

The pounding stopped, and shouts rose up from the ground below the window, and all I could do was moan, "She's dead. She's dead. Aimee's dead," in a hoarse whisper that was grotesque in itself.

Then a car pulled in, and car doors slammed.

I figured it would be the police, and they would help me. They would take Aimee away and take me home. They would call her parents. Then I could get a pill of my own that would take away the sight of Aimee's twisted legs wrapped around mine and the smell of crap and urine mixed with vomit and coffee, maybe the police would do something about my foot, which throbbed and still bled a puddle on the yellow spread like an ever-growing, ever blooming flower.

I quit screaming, I quit moaning, I waited, watching the flower spread and grow, my eyes glazed over. I slipped away. I stopped thinking, stopped reacting like a human being. I became still, cold, dead inside.

I still feel that way most of the time.

Sometimes, though, I feel opposite, filled with a rage that's uncontrollable and unknowable to anyone else. When it wasn't the police who walked into the room, but Aimee's father and stepmother, who had come home because they couldn't get through on the phone and were worried sick, the rage appeared for the first time.

The police report says I dropped Aimee on the floor and charged her stepmother. I remember her face, the shock and horror mixed with the smug satisfaction of knowing she was safe, that Aimee wouldn't tell. I still don't know if she cared for Aimee in her own sick way. But something snapped inside me when I saw her.

I don't remember trying to kill her though. The report states that I lunged for her neck, screaming and ranting. According to the first newspaper story, I tried to kill Aimee's stepmother, _too_.

I do remember a man, with strength unmatchable, as he held me down with icy hands until the police arrived. Then he went over to Aimee's prone body, took one brief look at her than shook his head slowly, his face an expression of pity. I remember his eyes holding my own as though he was trying to read what was inside of me. They had been a honey gold and had calmed the panic shooting through me.

I didn't go to the funeral. I wasn't allowed.

I did hear where she had hidden the phone—on her stepmother's pillow, covered by blankets and tucked into the arm of her teddy bear. The paper reported the facts, but no one understood the significance of them. Even when I told them what the significance was, they didn't believe me. They accused me of hiding it earlier in the night, before I had cut my foot, because there were no bloodstains anywhere near her stepmother's bed. There were no footprints by the bed because there was no phone on the bed. Not normally anyway.

When they found it, the phone had long since quit bleating its recorded message: "If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again."

But Aimee had completed her call.

_One year later…_

I ran, tree limbs and brambles scratching, grabbing, tripping, and slapping me as if they were bony hands, reaching for me out of the gray-darkness. The mountainside dropped steeply and I ran pell-mell, my feet unsure on pine needles and loose stones. I beat at the limbs with flailing arms, looking for the trail, falling over logs, getting up and darting to the left, than to the right. Where was that trail?

My breathing came short and hard and my lungs seared, screaming for air. My legs felt like rubber as I groped my way along, stooping under limbs, clambering over more logs, and pushing my way through tangled thickets in the dark.

Blood. I reeked of it. It was hot and sticky between my fingers. It had soaked through my shirt and splattered on my hospital pants. Perspiration beaded my face and neck. It was all I could do to keep from screaming.

Then all at once the path was gone and I stumbled and went flying. I saw the tree braches whipping towards me. They slapped me, lashed me. I tumbled...spun...crashing through them. I grabbed a limb; it tore lose from my hand. Sheer terror and panic gutted my stomach. My body smacked into another, slowing my fall enough to grab on. My feet flew past me and I was dangling off a sheer drop off that plunged into a sloped, forested ravine.

Dirt stung my face as it rolled past me. Thorns on the tree branch dug painfully into my soft palms. But at that point that was nothing. My feet kicked at empty air as I tried to haul myself up. I gritted my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut, concentrating on the muscles in my arms. I groaned as I attempted to pull myself up. But I couldn't muster up enough strength.

_Weak! Useless! _They screamed at me. _Just let go! There's no point in you living—no one likes you—even your own parents gave you up!_

I struggled, gasping, shaking, my tears mixing with sweat, dirt, and blood as they rolled down my face.

_Mercy… _They were whispering now, soft, seductive, almost gentle. _The men will find you soon….all alone, cold and dark, edging towards death's threshold. Do you remember the first time? The first time you tried to run?_

Fear turned into thoughtless panic and only reaction remained. Like a tame less, mad animal I began to fight and claw my way up. After a few terrifying seconds (which seemed like hours) I finally managed to climb my way up and crawl away from the jagged edge, a stitch growing in my side, heaving gasps, the panic morphing into anger and unsuppressed rage.

"Shut-up!" I screamed, tearing at the nettles and twigs, gorging my nails into the dirt. "Just shut-up! I won't listen to you! I won't! I won't!" I grabbed the dog tags dangling from my neck and yanked at it violently. The chain wouldn't snap like it did in movies and all I received was sharp pain. I let out a feral scream, releasing my overwhelming frustration and fear. I grabbed the chain, itself, this time, clenching the cold metal with both fists. With the adrenaline pumping through my veins and my heart pounding wildly within my chest, I wrenched the chain violently, forcefully. I felt it bite into the back of my neck and I felt a sudden wet warmth trickle around my left shoulder.

_Mercy, we're still here._

I grabbed my throat, feeling my oxygen cut off.

Can't. Breathe.

I collapsed onto my back, my chin tilted towards the green tree tops crowned by a darkening sky. I gasped loudly, sucking in the damp air around me than releasing it in gags. In unison with my breathing came the pounding of my head. I sob as my body tries to turn my lungs inside out to gulp more oxygen, as my stomach churns with rushing blood and lack of energy. The stitch in my side grew more painful with every breath and I achingly lifted my arms above my head so that my ribcage protruded through my shirt so that every rib was visible. My chest heaved and my limbs quivered with exhaustion and hunger.

Darkness continued to approach.

It was during the night, when the silence is thick and the blackness seems to ooze like ink, and the cold, with its icy fingers slowly creeps up from the ground as if from the grave and coils about you like a deadly serpent; it was this time, when the voices were most persistent. This was when their whispers pricked the corners of my mind with their sharp taunts and memories I always struggled with. Memories that I didn't want to remember and didn't want to forget.

I closed my eyes as the first drops of rain stuck my cheeks and slid down the sides of my face and tickling my ears. And then the rain came faster, louder, soothing my feverish skin and making my bare arms blossom with goosebumps. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance and the swishing of trees filled my ears and head—a consistent, lulling sound.

They had locked me up. Like an animal. Like I wasn't even a human being. In a psyche ward where they stare at you through little slits in the door and make sure you have nothing to hurt yourself with. They don't know about biting the inside of your cheek until it bleeds and swells and you can't stop biting it anymore because it's in your way all the time. They don't know about ripping off your fingernails way below the nail bed so that you can poke the raw flesh beneath. They don't know about jabbing the sharpened nails between your toes or gouging the soft skin of your palms with whatever you can find so that there's an open sore to sear every step into your memory so that you won't forget why you're there.

To be punished.

My body jerks awake. Sharp pains shoot up my fingers as I pull them from between my legs where I had stuffed them for warmth. Slowly, groggily I uncoil from my fetal position, blinking against the sudden brightness of the pale gray, sky overhead. I used my hands to push myself up and they sank into the wet mud, creating imprints. When I stood, my legs wobbled like a toddlers and my head spun as I swayed, staggering a few steps forward before collapsing into a heap upon the forest floor.

I let my body sink the rest of the way and I drop my forehead on the dirt. Its roughness presses into my flesh. The feeling of the rock and sticks digging into my skin is concrete. It is something I know. I can prove it. But Aimee? I can't prove any of what she said was true. Ever.

I run my fingers through the mud, feeling the stickiness between my fingers, the coolness against the burning scrapes on my palms. I listen to the morning sounds of birds chirping and the sound of the wind as it whispers its way around tree trunks, rustling the dried, crumbling leaves and snatching up wisps of my curls and trying to tug them away. As I pressed my feverish cheek into the earth, I could see the silver of the tags splayed out in front of my face, glinting white in the morning's pale light

Rage sends a red haze in front of my eyes. Forgetting my dizziness I grab the tags, my brand of evil, scooping of a fistful of mud and leaves as well. I smear mud on its silver in pure spite, smearing away the lies, the horrible things with the bit of earth.

"You _cannot_ have me!" I scream nearly incoherently, struggling with the metal, feeling its bite against my neck. "_You cannot have me_!"

_It won't work._ They whisper in a vile hiss that ran my blood cold. _We have you in mind—you've been marked, Mercy, no matter what you do, what you try._

Fear is not just a single emotion, though many may contradict. Fear is a confusing multitude of emotions. Anger. Hate. Pain. Confusion. Terror. With that rush of overwhelming emotions, that rush of adrenaline, I leap to my feet in a flail of arms, my heart pumping madly, sending spasms racking my body. Clawing, fighting like a rabid animal I make back up the hill, ripping pieces of bark off the trees I grabbed for support, feeling the flesh tear from my bare feet but not caring.

No matter how fast I ran, they were always there and I hated every mile they haunted of my pitiful life. I wailed out loud, my cry rising, wavering, holding than falling off into a hissing sob. Drawing in a ragged breath I wept again, my voice quaking, the notes rising to a nerve-rending peak and then trailing off again.

I stopped, gagging for air. The rain had begun to fall again in rushing torrents and the sky was darkening despite a new day. Would it ever stop? I look at the opening in the trees above me, at the wild dance of dying leaves in the wind. I began to walk slowly, lopsided, feeling the pain of my wounds and the weakness of going without food. My knobby knees knock together as I stagger, fighting to keep my eyes open to the rush of the freezing rain. My bare feet grow numb from the chilled mud and the coldness slowly creeps up my legs and into my stomach than, almost stealthily working its way through my arms and biting the tips of my fingers.

My teeth clattered together and I was shaking so hard that I was nearly in convulsions. I wasn't going to make the night. I knew within the depths of my heart. But it was better than going back, better than facing the pits of hell and feeling the agony and fear every single day.

I froze, staring, wondering if my eyes deceived me through the rain.

It was a road—a symbol of humanity, a symbol of hope.

I ran as fast as I could, my black curls flying out behind me, squinting against the driving, sleeted rain. Soaked to the bone, my hospital pajamas clung to me and I could feel uneven pavement cutting into my bare feet as I ran pell-mell down the deserted road. The dog tags around my neck rattled loudly, slapping my chest in an erratic rhythm to the sudden energy burning through my limbs. Mud splattered up as I sprinted, spotting my arms and legs and face. I staggered slightly as I fought to glissade down the hill, my breaths coming in searing gasps and I could feel my muscles beginning to burn from the exertion. As I ran, I threw my head back, forcing myself to keep breathing despite the pain burning a hole into my lungs.

I had to be near a town and there I could find shelter to hide. Maybe behind a dumpster or within someone's garage or barn if there were farms around.

The paved road suddenly fell into a dip, pitching me forward. I stumbled than hit the road hard, smacking my face on the ground. The rough tar tore into my shoulder as I skidded to a violent stop and I involuntarily cried out in the pain.

After a moment of being stunned, I slowly pulled myself up, my hand flying to my stinging face. My fingertips came away bloodied. "Crap." My nose was gushing bright red blood and ran into my mouth and I tasted metal and salt. I rolled back on my hands and knees and rested a moment, staring at the silver tags hanging between my elbows, slowly rotating on the chain. After several moments, I stood. I held my arm up to my busted nose, letting the sleeve of my button up, collared hospital shirt staunch the flow. I couldn't hold the tears back, though, no matter how hard I try.

They ran hot down my face, the despair a shock to my system. I knew it wouldn't be easy but I felt that somehow, some way, I would be allotted some help, some shelter after everything that had happened. Doesn't everyone need a break, a bit of peace through the chaos, a bit of warmth through the cold night?

I turned slowly in a full circle, hoping, but at the same time dreading, for someone to drive by and see me. But the back road was deserted and my situation couldn't be any worse. I power-kicked a loose stone and tilted my face up to the rain, letting the water wash away the red stain.

"This isn't fair, Aimee," I cried bitterly at the churning sky.

I didn't receive an answer. Not that I expected one.

"Can't you help me just this once?" I continued anyways, wrapping my arms around my chest as I glared at the soupy sky. "Do you even care?"

Nothing.

There was only the beating of the rain and the hiss of the wind and the sound of my teeth chattering from the cold that had seeped into my bones. Slowly, I sank to the ground and sat cross-legged. My curls lay plastered to my face and head and water dripped from the edges of my eyelashes and clung to the line of my jaw. In the distance, I heard a low rumble of thunder and a brilliant white vein of lightening momentarily blinded me.

_"I don't think I could have come this far without you as my friend. Will you stay with me tonight? One last time?"_

Suddenly, I felt as if the oxygen was sucked out of me. I doubled over, gasping and gulping at the damp air.

_Darkness. Voices whispering in my head. _

_Can't. Breathe._

_I couldn't outmatch the strength of whoever had me; I couldn't fight my way free._

_The voices grew louder until they were screaming as loud as me. I groaned, pounding my fists on the linoleum until they were numb._

_I grabbed at whatever I could, flailing, screaming: bedposts…a table leg…the back of the chair…and finally the brass door knob which was ripped away from my fingers._

A flash of light caught my eye, breaking me from the pictures in my head. I turned and the headlights of a car speeding towards me, like the eyes of a monster bearing down on me.

I panicked.

I scrambled to my feet, like a terrified rabbit and bolted, searching wild-eyed for a place to hide. But I misjudged my footing and I slipped. I suddenly found myself flailing my arms for balance and for a moment, I teetered precariously then I fell, tumbling down the slope.

As I fell, they came back again. The voices. The whispers. I hit the dirt ground, rolling in grass, sticks and leaves. I covered my ears with both hands, gagging on air, keeping my eyes squeezed shut as I always did.

They were shouting accusations, reminding me of things I had tried to forget. They squeezed my heart, my lungs, compressing my mind until it felt as though my eyes would pop out from my skull.

"_I'm sorry_! _I'm sorry_!" I shrieked out hysterically.

I lifted my head, struggling to roll over, spitting out mud and grass. Pain filled every inch of my body. Gulping spastically and crying hysterically, I clawed at the mud and grass. Struggling to pull myself away from the puddle I had landed in, to keep myself from drowning. Fighting every inch of the way, I managed to get onto my back, gasping and sobbing.

I wouldn't allow this to happen to me. I had already come so far to let myself lose.

But at the moment I couldn't think straight, couldn't see straight. My world was whirling like a dervish around me. Nauseating spurts of adrenaline shot through my veins. _Breathe…breathe…breathe… _I mentally coached myself. _In…out…in…in…in…._

I gurgled, choking on my own salvia. _BREATH! Help me…somebody help me…_

But there was only darkness.

_Carlisle…_

I moved silently through the yard, a wraith in the inky darkness. The door only whispered when I pulled it open and I slipped into the motionless house. Pale, silvery moonlight spilled like glitter from the skylight overhead. There was a silhouette in the shadows, a shape hunched up in a form of agitation.

"Alice?" I murmured, dropping my briefcase by the threshold and removing the winter coat from my shoulders. She was sitting on the bottom step of the winding staircase, still as a carving of marble, not breathing, her pixie face buried in her hands. She didn't stir at my voice, remaining completely unresponsive.

Concern blossomed in my chest. I crouched down so I was level with her and affectionately laid a hand on my daughter's thin shoulder. She wasn't breathing.

"Alice? Are you all right?"

Slowly, almost achingly, Alice lifted her head and I saw that her eyes were pitch black. "Carlisle," she spoke in a low groan.

"Where are the others?" I asked, noting the rest of my family and wondering why she was left here alone in the house.

"Hunting," her breath hitched as she spoke as though she were crying. Her delicate frame shuddered but her face remained dry and her eyes clear despite the pain darkening them. "It _hurts_, Carlisle—_it really hurts_." Then she sagged against me, letting her head fall against my chest as though she had no strength to stay up on her own.

"Alice? What hurts?" I asked, alarm thick in my voice. I had never seen Alice in such a state. "Alice, what's going on?" I put my hands under her arms for support, fearing she would fall if I didn't. When she didn't answer, my voice became almost panicked. "_Alice, answer me_!"


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, the true test of courage is not to die but to live.

_ Aimee was queen of the elementary school I transferred into in third grade. She decided who was invited to slumber parties and kick-ball games. She was the person to know. Of course, I didn't know her, and I didn't know, as I sat and watched everyone catch up on their summer vacations, that she was the girl I should get to know._

_ I just wished I could change my clothes. I looked like a mini-lawyer with a dark skirt, ruffled scarf, white blouse, and loafers. My hair was slicked back tight against my head and gathered into a French braid at my neck._

_ None of the other girls had their hair like that, and most of the girls, Aimee included, wore leggings or jeans and big comfortable tops that they could play in. Clothes my mother didn't think were suitable for school. But after a day of standing off to one side and watching every kid snicker at me and listening to every boy planning to peek up my skirt or comparing me to a teacher, I decided to do something about it._

_ Of course, in third grade you resources are limited; so that what I did was quit eating, starting with supper, and proceeding through breakfast, lunch, and dinner the next day. I pointedly dropped my full lunch sack on the kitchen counter so that when Mom returned home from her part-time job that was only fifty hours a week, she would see it._

_ At breakfast the following day, I appeared in my night gown. "I'm not going to school."_

_ Mom looked up, smiled, and said in this tight, I'm-trying-to-be-patient-here voice, "Yes, you are. I have a court appearance that I can't miss and your father has already left for work."_

_ "My stomach hurts."_

_ "Eat."_

_ "I can't. I don't want to."_

_ "Well, you should."_

_ "If I do, will you take me shopping and buy whatever I like?"_

_ "Ah, the little negotiator, just like Mommy!" She seemed so pleased, but I didn't know what she meant. Since she was happy, I figured I was on the right track. "If you get dressed and eat a bowl of cereal, I'll take you shopping after school."_

_ "And let me buy whatever I want." It was not a question._

_ "Right, darling. Now, I have fifteen minutes to get out of the house, so you'd better hurry up."_

_ So, I did._

_ That day at school, I studied the girls' clothes for name brands and styles. I knew by then who was boss and who was nerd, so I focused on the cool girls. Then I took my mother on a nice-nice shopping tour, which meant as long as I was nice and let her talk on her cell phone, she'd let me buy whatever I wanted._

_ And that was what she did for then on. Only she brought her laptop along and sat outside the store, giving me money, checks, or credit cards and waving at any store clerks who questioned my right to use them._

"Dr. Cullen?" a timid voice spoke behind me, jerking me from deep in thought. So deep in thought that it almost felt as though I was resurfacing after spending hours within the recesses of a deep lake of oblivion. "Dr. Cullen, sir?"

I turned abruptly, maybe too fast because the girl who had spoken my name flinched and took an involuntary step back. I recognized her as the new med student going through her first rotation. With wide, marble-blue eyes and wispy blond hair, she gave the innocent appearance of a baby doll with a small round nose and cherry colored lips. She still looked startled from my sudden movement and I gave her a gentle, calm smile.

"May I help you?" I asked watching the girl bite her lower lip in hesitation, unable or maybe too afraid to hold my gaze.

"Um, I was wondering..." she handed me a clipboard than tucked her white-blond hair behind one ear. "I was wondering if you could sign these for me?"

I took the paperwork from her, careful not to go too fast and scanned it over than signed it with a flourish. "Make sure you check over the patient's radiology results and also the lab results as well on the blood work that was done."

"Actually," she shifted her weight nervously and handed me the folder she was holding under one arm. "I have them right here. I was wondering if, um...that if you're not busy, if you could help me. I wasn't exactly sure..."

I looked to the right than to the left before taking her lightly by the elbow and guiding her to a nearby light board. She handed me the first x-ray and I stuck it up against the board and switched the light on. "Stab wound, correct?" I asked, studying the ribcage on display.

She nodded; she face was flushed as though she were embarrassed. I noticed her hands were trembling slightly and I could hear the rapid fluttering of her heart. I spoke softly, thinking that maybe I might have appeared too overpowering. "Do you see what's wrong here?" I asked. She studied to picture, moving to stand in front of me. I towered over her, her head barely reaching my chest.

"It looks as though those two ribs to the left were splintered when the knife went in," she observed in a quiet, hesitant voice and looked up at me for affirmation.

"Good," I murmured.

"But she isn't responding well to medication..."

I pulled out the lab results and held them out to her for her to see. "Tell me: do you notice anything abnormal?"

"Well, the iron readouts appear low all the way across."

"Too low, which implies...?"

"Anemia?" her voice came as a question.

"Correct. If you give the patient iron supplements than she'll respond better to medication."

I received no response. I looked over at the girl and glanced at her name tag. "You're doing a fine job, Tracy. Don't worry; you'll get the hang of it soon. It just takes practice."

"_A lot _of practice," Tracy smiled for the first time, displaying a set of purple braces and a left dimple. She relaxed slightly. "You must have been really good to be such a good doctor at the age of 29."

I smiled but inwardly winced, repeating a well-rehearsed line. "It's different for everyone."

Tracy let out a nervous laugh and switched off the light board. Taking down the x-ray, she packed the paperwork back into the folder and walked away, her blond hair swishing like an oriental fan as she turned, the bright light from the ceiling casting a dim reflection on the ceramic tile.

I sighed, feeling my shoulders slump. I ran my fingers through my hair and walked slowly up the hallway towards the large staircase at the end of the hall. All around the smells, the noises, and sights of the emergency room came at me. Somewhere down the hall, a child was screaming in pain as a nurse used a hypodermic needle to inject penicillin. I could smell the vile odor of someone else vomiting out in the waiting room and I heard the sickening splatter of liquid on tile. A Korean nurse pushed past me, carrying two pints of donated blood in her gloved hands.

"Sorry, Dr. Cullen!" she called over her shoulder.

A young man tottered past as well, his nose swollen and bloodied. I quickly guided him to a bed, while instructing: "Don't lean your head back and try to breathe normally through your nose. A nurse will be with you shortly."

He nodded and closed his eyes with an aggravated sigh.

I left him like that and jogged up the staircase.

"You're still here." It was more of a statement than a question. I shut the office door behind me and dropped my stethoscope on the desk. "Alice?"

She was sitting in a corner, with her head leaning against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest.

"I don't see how you can work here, Carlisle. I think it's ludicrous."

I lowered myself into the chair and rested my elbows on the mahogany. "I enjoy it here." I answered, smiling.

"Oh, yes, you've said that before, haven't you?"

"Perhaps."

We sat in a moment of silence. I listened as the sound of a gurney rolled past followed by several pairs of footsteps.

"Shouldn't you be working?" Alice asked after the entourage had passed.

"I'm on break."

"As if you need one."

Again, there was a silence.

"Are you still having visions?"

Alice groaned. "They won't stop. I just keep having these confusing flashes filled with shadows and screaming and someone else who seems to be the center of it all. That's why I came here to be with you today. Edward was about to have a seizure from it all and Jasper was near hyperventilating from all the emotions going through me."

I smiled at the words she choose and leaned back into the chair. "I don't know what to say." I said in a serious tone. "There are so many reasons these visions could be happening; most of them are probably not good reasons. We just need to keep alert until they pass. Visions like that could only mean one thing: danger."

"We're in danger?"

The office door shut with a soft clip and Bella was standing in front of me looking physically worn. Her long, dark umber hair was woven into a loose braid that reached her waist. Her large eyes were the subtle color of honey as they studied me than Alice. "I didn't know you were going to stay here _this_ long."

"How did your day go?" I asked as she removed her hospital coat and stethoscope until she was only wearing her pale blue scrubs.

"Better than last week. I was able to handle it a lot better today but I had to walk away when a guy started vomiting blood." She made a disgusted face but still managed to look angelic.

Alice stood and rolled her eyes. "I admire you Bella for following in Carlisle's footsteps but I still think you're crazy. And a suck-up."

"Thanks Alice, I really appreciate your insight and your attempt to side track me." Bella pulled the hair band the same color of her scrubs out of her hair and her long tresses fell straight as ever from the lock of the braid they had been in all day. "Are you guys still talking about her visions?"

I nodded. "Alice decided it was best to stay away for awhile for the sake of Edward and Jasper."

Bella didn't reply; instead she walked towards my desk and sat in the chair opposite me. Of course she didn't need to sit but having been so accustomed of playing the part of human that it just came natural now. Like how she had begun to braid and unbraid her hair or chew on her lip as an unbreakable habit. Alice stood gracefully and moved towards the window, drawing back the folds of the white curtains. A patch of sunlight had broken through the dreary clouds and struck her face, causing her skin to glitter like a million diamonds.

"I'm going hunting," Bella announced suddenly. She turned to look at me and I noticed her eyes were slowly fading to black-a very, very subtle change but a change none the less. "You're here until nine, correct?" she asked.

"Yes, nine."

"Do you want to come, Alice?" she turned away from me and towards the sparkling figure standing like a statue near the window.

"No, not this time," Alice didn't even turn to speak or look at Bella.

"Fine," Bella sighed. "I guess I could try to call Edward even though he said he wanted to wait till this weekend. I don't think he clearly understands that I don't possess excellent stamina as you do, Carlisle. I'm working on it though." She grimaced and went back to chewing on her nail.

I laughed once. "I'm sure, Bella, that Edward would comply with whatever you suggest. He sees no fault in you."

"You have that precisely right, Carlisle." She shook her head as though she were remembering something that wasn't quite a fond memory for her. "See you guys later."

With that she slipped back out into the hall with barely a whisper of a noise. I checked my wrist watch and glanced up at Alice. "I should probably head back downstairs to finish my shift. If you need anything...Alice?"

Alice suddenly doubled over, grabbing her head and letting out a hiss of pain. I was at her side in an instant, holding her up and speaking urgently.

There was a loud knock at the door and I heard the heavy breathing of some person who had probably ran up a flight of stairs and didn't have the stamina to do so.

"Pull yourself together, Alice, just for a moment," I whispered urgently. I pulled her to my leather chair and she dropped into it and laid her head on the desk.

I swung open the door and stepped into the hall, blocking Alice from view as I did so. It was another med student. He was on his third rotation with a shock of red hair and pale green eyes.

"Bryce?"

"Dr. Cullen, you're needed downstairs. It's-it's an emergency..." he was breathing fast, hard, and his face was turning a chalky gray.

I caught him under the arms just as he slumped to the floor. "I need a gurney over here!" I shouted and a flood of doctors and nurses responded. As they lifted him up, I scolded the nearest nurse who was an aging lady with curly brown hair and deep-set eyes. "Be sure to tell whoever sent this intern up here that to remember next time to not send an asthmatic up two flights up stairs in a state of an emergency."

She nodded just as my pager bleeped off. I replaced my stethoscope back around my neck and struggled to go at a human pace as I ran down the flights of stairs and rounded the corner into the ER just when a gurney burst through the double doors along with several paramedics, Dr. Carter, and several nurses.

"Talk to me," I demanded, matching pace with the rushing gurney and quickly assessing the situation.

She was a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, with a whippet thin frame and cropped, curly black hair. She was to the extreme of hyperventilating with her wide eyes, the color of blue at midnight, darting back and forth, wheeling wildly in obvious terror. Her breathing was hitched and labored and her thin chest heaved from exertion. Dr. Carter was pinning her arms to her side but she still managed to gauge him with her nails while several nurses attempted to hold her legs down. She was squirming, twisting, trying to fight her way free and shrieking at the top of her lungs as she did so.

Her clothes were torn and dirty and a mixture of dried and fresh blood stained her skeletal frame. I could hear the frantic, wild beating of her heart against her rib cage and the violent whoosh of the oxygen empting from her irritated lungs.

"She was found in a ditch at the side of the road," a paramedic was telling me as he held a cloth to his bloodied forehead. I had a pretty good idea how he got it with how she was wrenching about everywhere. "Multiple lacerations to the face, neck, and arms. The possibility of a cracked rib."

I looked over the struggling girl, took a pin light and held her face still long enough and looked into her eyes. Her pupils were narrowed to pin-points in her fear and she flinched away from the light, trembling under my touch. "You're going to be okay, sweetie," I murmured, counting her pulse as we wheeled into an adjacent room where the nurses began to hook her up to the heart monitor and an IV despite her scream of pain and fear. I watched the lime-green line on the black screen of the monitor as it erratically spiked and dropped.

"Her pulse is fast and breathing is erratic," Dr. Carter confirmed even though we were looking at the same thing.

"She has mucus in her lungs," I replied, pulling my stethoscope out from under the girl's shirt. "Someone run a test for her blood type, she's losing too much blood."

"Dr. Cullen, her temp is 97.9."

"Her temp is dropping-someone get these damn clothes off her," Dr. Carter let a different nurse take over his job and he straightened. "Where are the scissors?"

I continued to hold her face in my hands, trying to calm her jerking movements. "Get me some oxygen and a readout of her EKGs and BBCs."

"Blood pressure is skyrocketing!"

I bent over, grabbing the oxygen mask offered to me and cupped it over the girl's mouth and nose.

"Honey, can you try to breathe for me? Deep breaths, now..." I spoke soothingly to her, keeping a hand on her neck to monitor the pulsing of her blood in her veins. She wrenched her neck, trying to pull away from the mask. "We're not going to hurt you, sweetie, you're going to be okay."

I leaned back slightly as one nurse reached over the girl's face to check the paper readout spitting out from the monitor.

"Hemoglobin's low," he said, ripping the paper from the machine. "She's isn't taking in enough oxygen."

I looked back down at the girl who was shaking so hard she was near convulsions. "Deep breaths...you need to calm down, sweetie, no one's going to hurt you. We're all here to help you..."

Her eyes locked with mine and I felt my empty chest sear with sudden pain. Her eyes, shadowed with sadness, were too large for her little face. But then her back arched and those wide blue eyes rolled back, disappearing from view. Her mouth gaped and foamed. Blood from her neck oozed over my fingers.

But I couldn't move.

Without a spoken word, this tiny girl's eyes alone told her story. In the spilt second that her eyes met mine, what I saw chilled me to the bone.

I saw absolute, stunning beauty veiled in hollow, bleeding sorrow. A tiny flame trapped in an icy prison. How could two elements so dichotomous be found in the same place? Her deep blue eyes were magnificently etched with radiating white lines like a star burst. Maybe in another time they would have looked very much like sparkles dancing upon the surface of a lake at midnight. Now, curtained in sorrow, they looked like nothing other than shattered glass.

Those deep blue shards silently communicated unspeakable pain, anguish, and rejection. Her fourteen or fifteen years of what seemed to be brutal multileveled abuse had driven her to near destruction. Implosion appeared imminent. In one flickering instant I witnessed pain so great that it froze me in the position I was in.

"Dr. Cullen? Dr. Cullen are you even listening to me?"

I blinked suddenly and looked up to see Dr. Carter standing on the other side of the whimpering girl with a handful of suture packets in his hands.

"Do you want me to sedate her so we can stop the bleeding?" he repeated his question, waiting for my 'okay'.

"Go ahead. Did someone find out her blood type?"

"AB negative," the Korean nurse I had seen earlier answered me, her sneakers squeaking as she speed walked across the room from the doorway. "Liz is calling blood banks for a pint."

"Damn," I whispered. Of course it would be the rarest blood type-a blood type difficult to come by. "Give her a dose of epinephrine then put her under."

"Um, doctor? You might want to look at this."

It was Tracy's voice. In one hand she held a pair of scissors, which she had been using to cut away the wet, dirtied clothes.

"Nami?" I gestured towards the Korean nurse and she took my position, holding the oxygen mask in place with one hand and scanning the readouts with the other.

I maneuvered over to where Tracy stood, a head shorter than the rest. She had begun to cut away the shirt at the seam on the girl's right side. She peeled back the now cut, bloodied, mud splotched shirt.

Barely able to be seen, I noticed several deep gashes splitting into her side. Gently and slowly, I slid my hand beneath her boney back and rolled her over a couple inches. "Scissors, please,"

Tracy placed the scissors in my hand and I cut away some more of the cloth. Tracy and the others that were near gasped. The gashes I had seen ran completely from her side across her back and over her jutting spinal cord. Deep and ugly, they etched violent patterns into the pale membrane of her skin: some were healed to red scars, some freshly split wide and others oozing fluid and puss.

"Dear god..." I groaned. I gingerly touched the crusted ridge of one oozing stripe and the girl's body shuddered than went limp.

Her heart stopped. The machines began to screech.

"She's crashing!" Nami hollered.

I spun around and pushed the oriental girl aside. "Prepare to incubate!"

Aidan, one of the male nurses with dark skin and black hair handed me a plastic package, which I promptly ripped open.

I tilted her head back and eased the tube into her throat with no difficulty than locked it in place. "Patient is incubated! Someone hand me the breather and prepare the paddles. Start at forty."

They positioned the shocks above the girl's naked chest. "Clear!" Nami shouted.

"Wait!" I shouted back. Everyone froze. The pulse on the monitor came back to life. First one point, than two points...than a steady beat. Everyone looked at each other for an explanation. We were all silent for a moment.

"Turn off the paddles and start the suturing." I said slowly. Nobody moved. "Don't just stand there, get to work," I spoke firmly, trying my best to keep the stress out of my voice. The nurses and doctors came back to life. Nami killed the paddles and pushed them back. Dr. Carter was ripping open a packet of sutures and pulling out the fish-hook needle. Tracy was filling out the clipboard and Aidan was inserting a needle into the girl's wrist. "And somebody _please_ figure out who this girl is?"

"I'm on it," Liz volunteered.

I turned around and walked out of the room, away from the smell of electricity, blood, and rubbing alcohol. Away from the chaos. Just away from it all.

I shut the office door behind me a little harder than necessary. I pulled off the splattered lab coat and tossed it on the nearby chair. My scrubs were stained with blood and my white shoes were now spotted red.

I rubbed my face with my hands and let out a deep sigh.

"Carlisle,"

Alice touched my arm. She was trembling.

"Why are you still here?" I asked in a tired voice.

I opened my eyes to see her pixie figure standing in front of her. Her dark eyes were wide.

"That girl," she said in a strangled voice. "What are they going to do with that girl?"

I looked at her in surprise. "The girl? We don't even know who she is, yet. Right now she's in recovery after spending three hours in the suture room. I'm not sure what's going to happen to her."

She grabbed my arm in a tight grip. "Carlisle, you must have saw it-felt it."

"Felt what?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows in perplexity.

"The girl...there's something wrong with her, something has happened to her...and we need to help her-no, _you _need to help her."

"I am helping her, Alice," I struggled to remain calm. My nerves were already stretched and my daughter wasn't helping any. "I'm doing anything within my power to heal her."

"That's not what I _mean_, Carlisle," Alice sounded frustrated as well. Her hand on me tightened on my arm till it was almost painful.

"Alice, may I ask what you are talking about?"  
Alice pulled me down so that we were eye to eye. "Carlisle. We need to get her out of here. Now."

***

The pain was terrible, unrelenting, like icy fire creeping through every inch of me until my entire body raged with it. I lay immobile in the gray-darkness of the room, my eyes wide and fixated as I stared at the ceiling, a pale gray in the absence of light. I listen to the beeping of the monitor beside me, matching the hard thumping of my heart, and I listened to the rustle of people walking by with gurneys or wheel chairs that squeaked as it rolled past. A faint line of light broke the darkness from under the door way from the hall but that was the only light besides the dots of red and thin lines of green of the monitors.

But the fear was even more powerful than the pain. It was like a poison that had been injected into my system and filled every sinew in my body and I couldn't stop the tremors gripping me. My wrists, my ankles were strapped to the bed, keeping me firmly in place and the oxygen mask cupped over my mouth and nose made me feel claustrophobic. Sticky, hot tears dripped from the outer corners of my eyes and ran into my hair and ears but I was unable to wipe them away. I had tubes running in to my nose and mouth and several IVs were hooked up to my wrists and I heart monitor clipped to my middle finger. I tried to move, to speak, to somehow twist free of the bindings but I was too weak to break away.

They had locked me up again. Like an animal. Like I wasn't even human. And now, I was going to die.

It reminded me of the jail cell. The coldness, the isolation. The fear.

"Are those really necessary?" Dad had tapped the cuffs on my wrists, chaffing me. It was he who had stood up for me. It was Dad who remembered who I was.

"A matter of routine, sir. Calmed her down considerable besides."

Dad nodded, unable to say more, and he had walked to the garage after calling out where he was going.

Mom hadn't responded. She didn't call out, "I love you," didn't say, "I'll see you there."

And she hadn't. Seen us there.

Dad had stayed at the station until I lost it and started crying, keening really. They couldn't get me to stop, and they called a doctor. But I wouldn't let the short little man near me. I had some kind of idea that he was going to give me an overdose, a tit-for-tat kind of punishment. So I kept running away from him, and he kept waddling after me, never very close, despite the smallness of the cell. I don't think you wanted to catch me, and I certainly didn't want to be caught, which meant I kept running from one side of the cell to the other, where I'd crash into the bars or cinder blocks, bounce off, and head in the opposite direction.

I kept thinking: where is she? Where is she?

I wanted Aimee. I wanted my mother.

Neither came, of course. And I had no idea where either one was. Both, I imagined, were in hell. Aimee for what she had done, my mother because of what I had done or was accused of doing and because she had to explain to all the important people in her life what a monster I was.

Eventually, the two officers stepped inside the cell, and I ran out of places to ricochet off. One officer tackled me, cracking my forehead on the cement floor, leaving a circle of black and a bump the size of a plumb. The other office held down any spare parts of me that were still able to move with a man twice my weight lying on top of me. The doctor gave me the shot.

And over their shouts and exclamations of pain and frustration, and while I kicked and screamed and told them to leave me alone, I heard Dad whimpering. My big, strong, swearing, angry dad sounded like the biggest wimp in the world. But more than anything else, it was the memory of his pain-filled voice that got me through the next few days.

Down on the floor, I couldn't see him. I couldn't see much of anything other than beige shirts and pants, but I could hear him.

"Don't hurt her. My god! She's just a little girl. Don't hurt her! Do you have to do that? Is any of this necessary? Why don't you let me talk to her?"

They didn't answer him. They held me down and doped me up. Then stood and backed away from me as though I still might jump them, as if I had been trying to hurt them in the first place. Then they opened the cell, scurried out, and, almost as an afterthought, let Dad in as I was fading, or maybe he forced his way into the cell. Things were pretty blurry by then.

I saw his face float and drift above me, felt his hand on mine, felt his handkerchief swab at my tears and dap at the bleeding lump between my eyes, heard him ask for ice. I heard his whispered, "I love you. We'll get you out of this mess.

But what I kept thinking was, where is she? Where is Mom?

I wanted to know that Mom had done the best possible thing for me. She was securing me the best lawyer money could buy. But what I needed was her patience and her belief that I hadn't done anything wrong.

And she hadn't given me either.

A cold hand suddenly laid itself on my forehead. My eyes fly open and my body jerks from fright.

"Shh," hushed a soft, gentle voice. "You're going to be alright. I'm going to get you out of this mess."

I hear the scrape of Velcro as whoever was above me slowly undid my binds. First one wrist than the other then one ankle than the other. I was able to lift my hand and touch the metal bars around the hospital bed, the coldness, the smoothness against my skin. Somehow it wasn't soothing.

The man worked quietly in the darkness, his movements only making whispers of sound. He removed the oxygen mask from my face and spoke quietly.

"Breathe in for me," he said, his fingers touching the tube going into my throat. "Now breathe out," as I did so, he pulled the tube out and it made me gag than rupture into a fit of rough coughing.

"Sorry," he apologized sympathetically. He then began to unhook the IVs from my wrists but left the needle bases in. He removed the tube from my nose than unhooked the heart monitor while at the same time switching it off so it didn't even began to screech when my body suddenly had no pulse.

"Do you have any pain?" he asked me, his fingers probing under my jaw as he felt my glands.

I didn't answer him. I never answered anyone.

He didn't seem to mind though.

"My name is Carlisle Cullen," he whispered loud enough for me to understand. "Do not be afraid. I am here to help you but I need you to cooperate."

I only stared at him in the darkness, my eyes wide and petrified. Who was this man? And what was he doing? But he had turned away from me and was rummaging through a nearby cabinet. Apparently, he had found what he was looking for he had turned back to me. His unnaturally cold hand laid itself on my arm.

"I'm going to give you a shot, and it is going to make you sleepy, okay?"

My lip trembled. He was going to sedate me? But I hadn't done anything wrong, I hadn't screamed or cried out my entire time in this hospital room. Why were they punishing me?

I whimpered and began to squirm, feeling his strong hand lock my arm into place.

"This is going to sting," he promised softly.

Duh.

And sting it did. I hated needles. I hated doctors. I hated hospitals. And I wanted to tell him all that and more but the drug now pumping through my veins sent my mind whirling into a place far away where there was only black and the sound of someone humming. Maybe I was dreaming, but I had the odd feeling of someone lifting me from the bed with their hands and carrying me, the wind was cold as it whipped against me. And I shuddered in my drugged state. Then I heard the whispers:

"I think you've just lost it, Carlisle. What were you thinking?"

some one was speaking harsh and flabbergasted.

"It was necessary." Carlisle had apparently answered.

"Necessary to steal her away from a hospital. A girl who shows the signs of being mentally unstable?"

I was not mentally unstable! Why did everyone say that? Why did people always jump to conclusions but knowing the absolute facts?

"I just had to." The other man spoke soft but firmly. "I felt it was the only way."

"The only way for what?" snapped the first person. I think I flinched from the sound of his voice, dangerous and extremely angry.

"The only way to keep her alive.

_Cause I need, I need a hand to hold_

_To hold me from the edge_

_The edge I'm sliding over slow_

_And I need, I need your hand to hold_

_To hold me from the edge_

_The edge I'm sliding past_

_Hold on to me_


	3. Chapter 3

Does anybody know how I feel?

Sometimes I'm numb

Sometimes I'm overcome

Does anybody know what's going on?

Do I have to wear my scars,

Like a badge on my arm?

For you to see me

I need release

_ We used to watch a lot of zombie movies, along with a bunch of other horror movies-mostly at Kyle's suggestion. I never liked them, and Chad and Aimee made fun of them, always pointing out how the makeup and props were designed to make it look real. They'd go to one of those super bookstores and browse the movie magazines for articles or pictures showing how the movies were made. Once they even created their own set, with Aimee lying on the couch, fake ax in her forehead, blood everywhere, and Chad crouched behind the La-Z-Boy, waiting to scare us half to death. Kates didn't speak to them for a week after that._

_ I was never sure if Chad and Aimee exposed the movies' secrets because they found the photography a bit too believable, or if they just wanted to kill Kyle's morbid love affair with them. He'd talk on and on and on about the latest horror flick until we told him to shut up or pay. We had some interesting ways of making him pay, like setting him up with Mandy, a blind date that turned out to be a dog-literally. That was Jason's idea. Instead of making out with some girl dumb enough to agree to go out with him, Kyle ended up dog-sitting for a trophy-winning Shih Tzu that was due to have puppies any moment. The dog was such a purebred fluff ball, she couldn't see to get the puppies out, or at least that's how it looked to Kyle. So he loaded her and about fifteen blankets into a wheelbarrow, since he didn't drive, and started rumbling off the vet's. Jason happened to see him, and he had to drive both Kyle and the dog to the vet's, help with delivery, and then explain to the ticked-off owner why Kyle was watching the dog instead of him. So it all sort of backfired on Jason._

_ But later, after Aimee and everything, while I was rotting on the shrink ward, I kept thinking about Kyle's zombie movies. It was the feeling of unreality, of being the only one with any sanity, that haunted me._

_ Because that's how I felt during the trial-like I was the only one alive. The only one who knew the truth. All the other people who could have helped were dead or changed. Aimee was obviously gone forever, but Kates, Kyle, and Jason, even Chad, had returned as zombies. My parents were always borderline zombies, but they hadn't and everyone else I knew had turned to real zombies._

_ They stood when the judge came in; they hadn't changed that much. They listened to the testimony of the first people to find Aimee and me-Aimee's family and neighbors, then the police. They listened while the doctors talked about what was wrong with me. Of course, the defense's and prosecution's shrinks had different diagnoses, but neither considered that I was okay, at least before all this happened. They never thought that if something was wrong with me it had to do with the trial and why it was taking place._

_ It's hard to act normal when you're accused of murder and no one believes that you didn't do it. Not my parents. Oh God, no. that would be a social gaffe-to support your daughter when she's on trial for murder. Not my friends. They didn't even come for the trial, except when they had to testify, and maybe when the verdict was read, but I didn't see them there. They didn't stand up for me or meet my eyes once during the whole thing._

_ The closest anyone came to really looking at me was when Chad had to point at me, which he did with a red face and anger in his eyes, whether at me or the way the prosecutor had phrased his question, I may never know. But he didn't meet my eyes. Not even when he left the stand. I think Kyle winked at me as he left the stand, but then again he's always twitching something when he's nervous. Could've been that. Kates cried, but she didn't look at me. Jason sat so stiffly I though he was held in place with a backboard, but it was probably his father's eyes on him the whole time that made him try so hard to look respectable._

_ So I stood alone. I stood without Aimee because she couldn't stand with me._

_**_

"Her heart's beating so fast, the poor thing," a soft female voice spoke somewhere above my head and what felt like smooth tips of ice brushed my cheek.

"I know," someone answered in what sounded like frustration, a man with a gentle, concerned voice despite the anxiety.

"I still can't believe you brought her _here_, Carlisle," another male voice said sharply with a barely tolerable tone that I didn't like. "What were you thinking?"

"I had to," the first voice whispered softly and I felt smooth ice again, this time on my forehead where it stayed, resting on my skin. The chilly touch sent a shiver down my otherwise immobile body.

"You _had to_?"

The first, female voice cut in, a quiet, almost shy voice: "I think Carlisle did what he thought was best considering the circumstances."

The circumstances?

There was a silence.

I tried to move, I tried to lift my head but my body seemed to not want to cooperate with my mind. Even my eyelids felt heavy as lead and I couldn't understand the reason why.

There more voices now; several of them, whispering above me-so soft that I couldn't understand what they were saying...maybe they weren't even talking, but humming to each other. It was a lulling melody, dulling my senses even though I could feel strength slowly returning to my body. But the sweet humming only lasted a few minutes for suddenly one humming voice grew angry and the hum morphed into a spiteful hiss that sent a violent shudder rattling through my body.

My body jerks when I open my eyes to see a room full of strangers. A young man stood slightly away from me, with his face turned away, and his stance angry. The yellow light overhead made his coppery colored hair shine and blinded me momentarily as my eyes adjusted. I tried to lift my head again, to fully access the situation I was in, but it hurt too much and my body didn't seem up to it quite yet. I concentrated on lifting my left arm, which had a spider web pattern of stitches on it, instead to touch the smooth railing on either side of me. Like a hospital bed. But the room around me was not a brilliant, sterile white and there were no bars on the nearby window. My fingers twitched slightly, but, other than that, I couldn't move. I closed my eyes again; the light hurt too much.

I felt _drugged_.

I tried again to move my arm again. And when I managed to curl my fingers around the cold metal, I sighed in relief. It was something that I was familiar with, something that I knew too well. Though the familiarity of the smooth bar was more horror than comfort, it was something I could remember, something I was used to and didn't have to be terribly afraid of in the darkness behind my closed eyelids. And the voices were seemingly held at bay-I didn't hear them whispering in my skull or pricking my mind with their sharp taunts. I released my fingers and let my hand fall limply to the sheets.

The cold stone suddenly left my forehead. I opened my eyes again, slowly, and I had to squint to see for the light flooding the room. Why was it so bright?

Through slightly blurred vision, I saw the bronzed-hair boy looking down at me, his almond-shaped eyes a honey gold. "Are you all right?" he asked sounding annoyed, as though he was required to ask me that question.

"Edward, you're scaring her," a girl reprimanded him quietly. He only narrowed his eyes at me, as though trying to pull some sort of information out of me that he couldn't seem to gain access to.

"No, I am not."

I couldn't speak even if I wanted to; my mouth felt like cotton. What I wanted I really wanted to do was to shout, to ask them who they were and what they were doing to me. But I couldn't. I closed my eyes again, not wanting to look at the stranger glaring at me. But whatever medication these people seemed to have given me was quickly wearing off, quicker than I was used to it doing. I gathered the strength and carefully, painfully lifted my left arm and run my fingers down the length of my arm, feeling the tender ridges of my sutured gashes until I reached my wrist where I felt the tube of the IV inserted.

That was where they were pouring the drugs into me and that was where it was going to stop.

Here I was, in some stranger's house lying practically immobile on this bed surrounded by people who didn't even look like people at all but like ghosts with their white skin or some enchantments with their overwhelming beauty.

So this was my hell, my punishment. I stared at the thin, plastic tube running into my arm filled with bubbly, yellowish liquid and at the web of tiny, black sutures. I contemplated on whether to yank the tube out. I had done it before. It wasn't complicated. Sure it hurt some and most of the time I end up tearing my vein. I continued to study my arm not wanting, or maybe fearing to look anywhere else. Some of the stitched gashes were oozing puss and blood and the skin looked irritated and red.

I felt close to panic, watching the growing shadows creep across the room and the silvery moonlight falling on the carpet, like someone had tossed a handful of glitter across the floor. With both hands I grasp the railings on either side, an effort to hold myself together, to keep myself from losing it all together. I grip the cool metal until my knuckles turn white and the bluish veins pop out. I squeeze my eyes shut and silently whimpered, feeling like a trapped animal amidst a room of deadly vipers.

Maybe I had died and gone to Hell.

When I opened my eyes, the man called Edward was gone and the room was darkening as though I was being lowered into the abyss. I felt cold and wondered why it wasn't warm-besides, this was Hell, wasn't it?

But the man suddenly sitting silently beside me did not look like a demon. Instead, he looked like the exact opposite. With white-blond hair that glinted pale gold in the moon and candle light and with eyes the color of dark honey, he looked like a prospective angel coming to rescue me, not like a demonic spirit coming to pull my soul down to a fiery pit of torture that I rightly deserved. But his face was pale and his eyes were shadowed with bruise-like circles, giving him to the appearance of exhaustion through beauty.

I looked away quickly. Not matter how nice he looked, I couldn't trust him. I couldn't trust anybody. I just had to find a way out and that was all that was mattered. If anything, the guy had assisted my escape by at least getting me past the security of the hospital. Why? I didn't know and it was creepy that he had taken me out at all.

"Are you frightened?" he suddenly asked as though he could read my thoughts and he shifted, almost looking uncomfortable.

I didn't answer. I never answered anyone. I couldn't actually remember the last time I had actually spoken to another human being except the voices within my head. Then again, they could just be a figment of my imagination, an inclusion to this Hell on earth, or it could constitute that I was truly insane. Crazy. Mentally unstable.

The man cocked his head and watched me with unwavering eyes as though searching for something specific. "Do remember who I am? At all?"

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to mask the fear radiating through me but I don't think I was doing a very good job at all. I could tell the man was reading me like a billboard.

"You can call me Carlisle," he spoke with a sympathetic smile.

I clasped my hands together and stared as the skin turned white when I squeezed, almost as white as Carlisle's skin. I didn't acknowledge him or offer him my own name. My eyes pricked from the pain it cause but I ignored it, feeling the blood pulse within my own skin and watching how the skin around the knuckles fill with a bright red.

I look at Carlisle again, at his motionless figure tensed with stress and at his face which no longer supported a warm smile but an almost grimace. I saw him raise his hand slowly, carefully as though he were to touch my arm but then he drew back and he seemed to deflate.

"You have no need to be frightened, young one," he spoke in a firm tone and for a moment I felt as though I had offended him.

But what did I care? I just continued to watch his hand. I didn't like it when people touched me. I remembered when once I was sitting on my bed with earphones in. My mother had slipped up behind me and put her arms around me as if she wanted a hug.

I jumped. I hadn't heard her come in. Besides, the last time we'd hugged we'd been posing for a picture in front of some character in Disney World, so I wasn't expecting physical contact.

Before I could gasp out a surprised, "Oh, it's you!" she had snatched her arms back like they'd been burned.

I tugged the earphones out of my ears as she straightened.

When she saw that I could hear her again, she said," Don't you think you should take a shower after today? And put your clothes in the hamper. I want to wash them. They stink." She turned on her heel and stomped back.

For a moment, I wanted her back. I wanted to apologize for no knowing how it felt to be hugged on the spur of the moment anymore. To know what if felt like to have her hug me at all. But then I thought of the ice in her eyes when she'd pulled away, and I let it go.

She wouldn't change. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't.

But what if I had heard her coming and hadn't jumped? Would she had been there, hugging me in the hospital rooms instead of leaving me there alone night and day? Would I even be here now?

I didn't care that Carlisle was watching. I lifted my hand that did not have an IV stuck in it and pressed it to my aching forehead, scrunching my face to hold back any tears that might feel the need to leak out.

Carlisle immediately stood and hovered over me. "Are you in pain?" he asked quickly, tweaking the tube going into my arm and pressing a dry towel to one gash that was oozing blood-spotted fluid. He checked his wrist-watch, scrunching his eyebrows together as he thought. "I gave you the amount that was advisable for your weight. I can't give you another dose for another half-hour."

I flinched away from his hand and lowered my own, watching him ponder.

"I'll get you some food...soup maybe?"

Immediately my stomach gurgled as though it answered for me. He looked at me with appraising eyes and I knew he had somehow heard it. "I'll get you something light...make sure your stomach can handle it, than if you're still hungry, I'll get you more."

He paused.

"Stay here." He spoke firmly and studied me briefly. "I'll be right back."

I counted to ten after he had shut the door than sprung into action as though it was a well-rehearsed skit that I was doing...that I had done a hundred-thousand times before. Without really thinking, for I had done it a million times before, I yanked the tube out of my arm, ignoring the flash of pain and the swell of blood. I expertly unhitched the rail and let it fall back, allotting me room to slide down.

I felt a sweep of nausea after my feet hit the floor and the room spun around me; for a moment, I feared I would pass out. But I didn't. The feeling passed after several moments and I limped across the thick carpet, my leg muscles stiff and aching.

I see my duffle bag sitting by the dresser across the room. Apparently they had found it and brought it here for me. It was lying, unzipped. Nothing is in it.

My bag was empty of everything important to me.

I grab the bag, turn it upside down, and shake it until even I notice the panicked squeaks coming from my mouth as I put more and more force into every shake.

I stop shaking the bag, although my hands can't stop trembling, and turn the bag inside out. Nothing. I fling myself around strange room, pulling open drawers, dumping under out their contents on the floor. Everything flies, I didn't care that this wasn't my house, my stuff, but still I see nothing that I want.

My heart is racing. I toss books off shelves, dump out the pencil holder onto the floor, rip clothes from hangers.

But I find no ash tray, no photos, no razor blade.

Did that doctor take it all? Did Edward? What about that voice I heard...that female voice? What had they done?

I go to the oak door and try to jerk it open, only to find it locked. I look as my hands as they twist the polished brass knob, watch my bare, scratched feet dig into the carpeting, feel my body throw itself against the door.

And all the while a little voice inside me is saying, They've taken Aimee away to get even with me. For what? I didn't know. I just rationalized this in my head-thinking that was the answer. The voice grows louder as my body bangs into the door harder and harder. My shoulder caves into the wood, but it's my flesh that's giving, not the wood.

My heart pushes bile into my mouth with each slamming beat. There's sweat on my hands, blood running down my arms and blood soaking through my pants where my knee caps are where I've smashed them into the door. I tear off the poster of a waterfall, but there's still a door underneath. No peephole like at the psych ward, the last time I found myself caged.

Then everything explodes.

I hear myself shrieking every ugly word I know, every vile phrase. My head whams into the door once, twice, three times in a rhythm that I can't stop. Aimee. Aimee. Aimee. My heart pounds faster and faster, then becomes a constant flurry of motion indistinguishable as a beat. My breath catches, jerks, grates my throat raw as I scream.

"Give her back," I snarl, my first words since I came here. There is nothing human inside of me.

There was no answer.

I back away from the door, chest heaving. I wish I could see Aimee, but I can't. Or maybe I won't. Maybe she's here, and I won't see her, won't take her hand.

_She'll never come back for you._

My body felt as though it had been shocked. I looked around wildly for a moment-at the back of the door, at the watercolor painting hanging from the wall, than at the ceiling which had begun to lurch and sway.

It was _them_.

I whimpered softly and shut my eyes away from the glaring light, from the glaring world, retreating to my darkness where I felt safe. But they were still there, soft than loud, soft than loud.

_Please just leave me alone!_

Their voices were grating, sickening. They echoed, screeched, pulled at my insides, trying to suck me in, to rip me open

_ "I don't think I could have come this far without you as my friend. Will you stay with me tonight? One last time?"_

One last time.

My breathing dragged my shoulders up, then down. My head clears, then fogs. Yellow slides across the back of my eyelids, first in dots, then in waves. But they won't shut up and fade away. I whimpered again...this time louder, the sound gurgled in the back of my throat.

_They'll use you just like everyone else has done. They'll lock you up, experiment with you, than throw you away. Remember Meg? Remember what the doctors did to her?_

And I saw the pictures in my head...the mangled body, the streaks of blood.

NO! My entire being cried out and I shuddered.

I lurch towards the window and bang my fist against the shivering glass, find the latches and push the frame upward. I feel the rush of cold air, the wetness of the rain against my face. I see the failing light of the coming twilight and look out at the mountains in the near-distance, purple and gray in the evening.

This is what I should have done long ago. Instead of Aimee, it should've been me.

Hands grab me from behind, pulling away from the window, lifting me off the ground. I screamed, fighting the cold hands, my entire body flailing for release. And they release me. I crumble to the ground, still for only a brief moment before getting on hands and knees and crawling across the floor.

Carlisle slammed the window shut almost causing the glass to shatter from the force. He grabs my left arm from behind, apparently trying to calm me, to stop my hysteria.

"No!" I shriek, sobbing, kicking and twisting like a rabbit caught in a snare. "You took her away! You took my things away! You took her away from me!" I strain against his hold, writhing on the floor and using my free hand to pull at the threads of carpet, ripping them out in a desperate attempt to pull myself away. "LET ME GO!" I shriek clawing out his clothes. He immediately released me and I dodge towards the door way.

But he was suddenly there, blocking me.

"STAY AWAY!" I screech, flinging the empty bag at him.

Carlisle didn't flinch.

I take the glass candle holder resting on the mantle and hurdle towards him, my rage sending a veil of red over my eyes. The holder somehow missed him and hit the opposite wall and shattered into a thousand shards and they glisten as they hit the carpet, sparkling in the light.

"WHERE DID YOU TAKE HER?" I demand, my voice coming so loud that it tears my throat painfully. I lower my voice, but not the intensity. "_Where is she_?"

"What are you talking about?" Carlisle almost begs me, circling me until we are diagonal. He seemed as though he were holding his breath and he didn't blink as he stared at me with dark eyes and a pale face. "I did not take anything away from you!"

The animosity gorges through my veins and turns my skin hot. "Liar!" I accuse. My hands come out and I grab the antique-looking lamp and hurled it towards the doctor. It smashed to floor, harmlessly several feet away. The bulb bursts and plunges both of us into silver darkness.

The only sound was my breathing, ragged and fast. In, out, in, out. And it goes on like this for several minutes. I make out his pale outline several feet away. He hadn't moved. My breath came raw in my throat. Finally:

"Give her back," I whisper, my voice pathetically thin.

"I didn't take her," Carlisle replies solemnly. "I didn't take anything from you. Everything that was with you remains the same as how you brought it."

"Liar," I indicted again, my voice weaker still. I suddenly had the feeling I was navigating through an emotional minefield. One wrong move and I would explode. I could feel spasms of nausea from the grief striking me like hammer blows.

Aimee. Aimee. Aimee.

My voice comes as first a soft moan. I sink to the floor and curl up in the dark corner. My entire being dissolves into tears of pain-filled sadness. My body wracked with convulsions of the grief. She was gone forever now. I had no memory to cling to anymore but all she was to me was what that small, blue duffle bag had held for me. Through blurred vision I see the doctor slowly sink to the ground as well.

And in the quietness of dark, he let me cry, my sounds of despondency echoing off the walls of the large room.

My original plan, to have Aimee sleep over, would have saved her. Maybe Aimee would have done it some other time, but I don't know that. I will never know it. She said she couldn't do it alone, and I didn't understand until afterward that she meant she couldn't die alone.

But she did die alone. I gave her nothing but arguments during her last few waking moments, and I left her alone for much of the time when she was unconscious.

I drop my forehead on the windowsill where I had tried to get out earlier. Its cold roundness presses into my flesh. The feeling of the trim digging into my forehead is concrete. It is discomfort but not pain. It is something I know. I can prove it. But Aimee? I can't prove any of what she said was true. Ever. I want to bang my hands against the window until it breaks and sets me free, but I can't.

I can't.

Friends don't commit suicide. They just don't die.

I have no more tears. My face is dried taut and my wounds are throbbing. I slowly draw myself away from the window and sit up, drawing my knees to my chest and staring at the figure only a couple feet away. I have no emotions left in me at the moment and I feel drained, like someone who had taken a soaked rag and wrung it until it got threadbare and crinkled.

"Are you all right?" Carlisle asks me in a soft voice.

I was surprise he hadn't thrown me out or had gotten angry. He seemed calm enough despite my melt down and the rampage I had taken to the room.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

I found myself shaking my head without even thinking about it, without even thinking about what I was agreeing to. And somehow, he had seen the gesture and complied.

I watched as he slowly crawled his way over to me. He stops right next to me and leans back against the wall. The feeling of someone so close frightens me. My body is tense like a stiff wire and my fists are curled in my lap and I lean my body just fractionally away.

He didn't seem to notice though, or care. He just sat silently, patiently until:

"May I ask you your name?"

I hesitate than my voice slipped out, barely a whisper. "Mercy."

He a moment he didn't respond. He didn't move. "Mercy," he whispered, as though contemplating my name and not sure how to react to it. "Are you hungrary?"

I shook my head.

"Would you like to get into bed?"

I shook my head again.

"Well, I'll just sit with you then for a while."

I freeze. I suddenly feel his heavy hand on my shoulder and it jolts my system nearly sending me into shock. I feel him draw to his side but don't register the fact. Never had anyone touched me in a manner that wasn't supposed to cause harm. At least no times that I could remember. I half expected him to push me or maybe pinch the skin of my arm.

But he doesn't do either. And slowly, but surely, I begin to relax. His embrace was suddenly a place of protection and warmth where no one could touch me. Where somebody actually cared for me. Despite my flaws.

And for once, the voices held no presence in my mind and Aimee wasn't even a shadow hovering nearby.

But it couldn't last for long. Could it?

_Tell me that it's going to be okay_

_Tell me that you'll help me find my way_

_Tell me you can see the light of dawn is breaking_

_Tell me that it's gonna be alright_

_Tell me that you'll help me fight this fight_

_Tell me that you won't leave me alone in this._


	4. Chapter 4

There will be a time when you believe everything is finished.

That will be the beginning.

_Aimee rolled over on her bed. "Let's go for a walk. I can't stand being in this house anymore."_

_"Where?" I asked. Not that it mattered. Not that I cared. It was sunny, warm, and a breeze shook the trees just budding green. I stood before she answered and dragged my shoes from under her bed._

_She was still wearing her shoes. "I don't know where. Anywhere but here. It stinks here." She shoved her window open and stuck her head into the screenless space. She sighed._

_"Ready?" I said. She pulled her head in but didn't close the window, and we slouched out the door, neither wanting to appear too eager._

_We walked for two hours before she found the Dracula teeth from last Halloween in her pocket. She pulled them out and shoved them in her mouth._

_I never saw what she had in her hand, so when she grinned at me, I snorted, then rolled my eyes. Aimee didn't crack a smile. Just kept walking. We wound up on the civilized side of the field, which was built up with superstores where they sell everything from nylons to Jell-O, to tires. I followed her through the automatic doors without blinking._

_She smiled regularly during the next hour, watching people's reactions to her teeth. Little children either crumpled into tears or shouted with laughter, and their mothers either looked horrified or chuckled. I tried not to think of what would become with the scared kids with the shocked mothers, and I grinned at the women who liked our joke._

_One old man popped his teeth our, and Aimee laughed so hard, she dropped hers. He darted for them, but she was faster._

_"Sure you don't want to swap?" he asked, holding out his glistening, wet dentures. His lips were sunken, but his eyes danced._

_"Thanks anyway," Aimee said and swished her hips while strolling away. His eyes twinkled more as he watched her go then he headed toward Automotive. _

_"Where next?" I asked._

_She shrugged._

_"Got any money?" We were passing some snacks on sale, and my stomach growled. _

_"Only if we sell my teeth."_

_"Should have thought of that before you let that old guy go," I said, digging through my pockets. Empty. I didn't have any money or keys to get into my house. Neither did Aimee, but that mattered less since someone would probably be at her house. We were wearing watches, so even if our stomachs weren't starting a revolution, we knew it was dinnertime. Time to go home and quit screwing off if we didn't want to be grounded. At least if Aimee didn't. I had another hour before my parents might come home from work._

_Outside, we headed around the back of the store, toward a side street that cut through to the entrance to our subdivision. We walked by the stinking trash containers, then delivery entrances, and finally came up between the wall of the store and a row of bushes. A car was roaring up behind us, going fast for the narrow road and showing no sign of slowing up. I watched it approach because I had the teeth finally, and I was planning to flash them._

_But Aimee outdid me again._

_She spun away from me, and before I had my mouth around the oversized teeth, she was running for the bushes, looking like she planned to hurdle them._

_I was faster than her since I ran track, but I felt like I was in a dream, and I held back an instant. She had too big a lead on me, so I didn't catch her before she reached the bushes. Next thing I knew, she was jumping, both feet off the ground, one flying behind her, one dragging behind._

_The one dragging behind didn't clear the bushes. She fell in a heap, laughing. I landed on her and yelled, "Don't ever do that again."_

_But before my words and my Dracula teeth were out of my mouth, a rabbit bolted from the bushes in front of us. It moved slow and fast at the same time. Time does that when you want it to stop—it slows down, or seems to, so that you can see and remember everything afterward and wonder at its significance, if there is any._

_So the rabbit was running in long bounds away from the bushes and toward the road in a diagonal line, and I was sitting on Aimee's back as she watched the rabbit with her head on her arms. And the car? It moved on a straight path, and I could almost read the math problem in my book: If a car is moving at a rate of forty miles per hour and a rabbit is traveling at the speed of five miles per hour, will the two objects collide._

_They met as the rabbit hopped under the car. Then, just when I thought the rabbit was going to make it, it caught its head on the car's underbelly and somersaulted until it landed in a heap, a little cloud of dust and fur settling over it._

_The car didn't stop._

_We didn't move at first. Then, after a minute, I stood up and said, "Maybe we should see if it's all right. We might be able to help it."_

_"It's not moving is it?" Aimee said. "That means it's dead." _

_She pushed herself off the ground, stepped on her Dracula teeth, and walked over to the rabbit. She nudged it with her foot. No response. "Lucky thing," she said._

_"What's so lucky about being run over?"_

_"It was so quick, and it looked painless, don't you think?"_

_"What I think is that we killed it. It never would have run out if we weren't wrestling in the bushes. If you hadn't—" I stopped._

_She blinked at me, her face closed. After a moment, she pulled a cigarette from her coat and lit. "If I hadn't what?"_

_I felt nauseous, dizzy. Like someone broadsided by understanding. "What?" I said._

_Aimee looked puzzled._

_I continued, "What were you going to do?"_

_She rolled her eyes and sucked on the cigarette. "Don't be an idiot," she said at last, dribbling smoke. "I would have stopped." She walked away from the rabbit's body, one hand moving methodically between her mouth and the side of her leg, the other hand shoved in a pocket._

_I stood a moment by the rabbit, wondering if we should bury it or something, then Aimee yelled, "Come one! Let's eat at your house tonight." I glanced down at the rabbit, which looked a like a stuffed animal twisted by uncaring hands. Then I followed her, trying to figure out whether the bushes tripped her or she let herself be tripped, whether there was room to stop on the other side of the bushes or if she would have ended up in the road._

_Aimee kept ahead of me as we walked, and I didn't try to join her._

_I didn't want to know the answer then._

_I will never know it now._

_***_

Sometimes, life seems so hard to reason between what is true and what could lie in pure fiction. And beyond reality is a whole other dimension that tweaks with the truth just enough to keep your mind whirling for answers. And I had found myself in that position, stuck between in some sort of limbo. Never before had information been so evasive. And I was ridiculously frustrated at that fact, of not being able to fully grasp the facts. In truth, it felt as though I was grabbing at the air for answers and only coming up with a handful of nothing.

I didn't rest well that night. I just couldn't sit still. I paced the length of Mercy's bedroom several times before going down the two set of stair cases before I ended going right back up again. I hovered over her still figure beneath the covers, monitoring her pulse, checking her breathing and whether or not the infection-induced fever had gone down. She wasn't aware of me, of course, as I remained the silent companion for her throughout the cold night. When she stirred, I was there, pulling the sheets back up over her frail body. When she whimpered, I soothed her, speaking in hushed tones to her sleeping ears, hoping that whatever nightmare weaving through her dreams would dissipate.

I didn't know what had gotten into me.

But slowly, and to my utmost relief, her fever began to wane and the infection reddening her stitched gashes slowly faded away. I could see the change even when most humans would not be able to. But I knew, that before dawn broke, the wounds would start to bruise around the edges, a very imperceptible difference, but one none the least. And I noticed when checking her pulse, that her seemingly unbearably hot skin seem to fade to the normal human warmth.

I was watching the sun peek above the horizon, stretching its golden rays as it rose up, piercing the sky with its rare radiance and warmth. Like a watercolor painting, pastel colors splashed gaily along the mountain peaks and then faded into the baby blue of a fresh sky.

But in the distance, too far for any human eyes, I could see the workings of a thunderstorm, rumbling like a sleepy bear just rising from long months of hibernation.

"How is she?" it was a quiet voice, barely a whisper. Esme crept up behind me, her scent washing over me as she wrapped an arm about my waist in a hug. I gladly gave one back and glanced down at the sleeping waif.

"Fever broke around four-thirty," I answered in a murmur. "Infection has gone down and she looks better around the eyes, don't you think?"

Esme smiled and nodded, her fingers brushing back wisps of inky black curls back from her forehead. Mercy shivered in her sleep at Esme's touch, causing Esme to quickly withdraw her hand. She held her fingers to her chest for a moment, her eyes lost as she stared at the little human.

"What are you thinking?" I asked softly, running a finger down the length of her back.

"I'm not," Esme spoke with a sigh.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean: I don't know what to think about this."

I dropped my hand and sighed, my face drooping into a frown. "When she wakes up," I said, whispering into Esme's ear, "will you help clean her up?"

My wife smiled in her motherly way and nodded her agreement then turned, her limbs graceful as she left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

The girl suddenly moaned in weak, pitiful way. I turned back to her. She was stirring, her face screwed up as she pulled her hands out from under the sheet, opening her eyes to look around.

"How're you feeling?" I asked softly, not expecting her to answer. She didn't even look at me. Her fingers clutch at the bedspread and she begins to sit up, her face displaying her fear. I didn't speak as I watched her with a breaking heart while she examined the jagged gashes etching erratic patterns into her fragile skin.

"Where am I?" she spoke in such a soft voice that even_ I_ almost had trouble hearing it. Her words were innocent and scared and she glanced up at me with her large eyes than quickly dropped them again. It was not unlike seeing the flash of a falling star.

"I'm sorry for all the confusion," I apologized, furrowing my eyebrows. "How about getting cleaned up first then getting something to eat. I think it would do you a world of good."

"Eat?" she echoed as though she wasn't sure what the word meant. I could almost see her emotions changing rapidly as she tried to decide whether to trust me or not.

I offered her my hand. Slowly, hesitantly she placed her small hand in mine and I felt the warmth of her skin and the fevered pulse of her blood beneath it and the trembling of her muscles tensing up her arms. I was scaring her.

I used my free hand to lift her from the bed and place her on the floor. As she stood, I could see that she was weak. Her knees knocked-together as she looked around, looking too much like a lost and frightened lamb.

The going was slow as I lead her to the nearest bathroom and her knees buckled several times before I gave her the relief of sitting on the closed toilet while I pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet.

Esme was flitting up the staircase, towards the bathroom. Mercy jumped when she suddenly appeared in the doorway, a brilliant smile lighting up her entire face.

"Well, you're looking a lot better," she crouched down and laid a hand on Mercy's knee. "And I bet you'd feel better after getting some of this dirt and grim off of you."

I smiled to myself, stacking a couple packages of gauze pads next to the unopened bottle in a neat pile upon the marble sink. "Call me when you're done," I spoke to Esme only. "I'm going to find her some clothes to wear for the time being."

I shut the door quietly behind me, hearing the soft click of the latch and the sudden noise of bathwater running.

"None of my clothes will fit her," Alice cried, flinging her clothes left and right, clearly distraught, her face crinkled in concentration. "She's so much smaller than me! Why did I never buy any pajamas?"

I watched her lament silently off to the side. I could hear the sounds of a shower above my head and the soothing voice of Esme speaking.

"I'll go to Seattle real fast, they're bound to have something there," she announced, grabbing the car keys of her yellow Porsche. Without waiting for me to speak, she raced down the stair case and out the door. In a matter of mere seconds, she had started the car and was speeding down the driveway and away to the north.

Sighing, I moved towards Bella and Edward's room, checking my wrist watch. Bella was sitting silently in the middle of the floor, surrounded by three different books. Edward was fiddling with his stereo as the lulling strains of Moonlight Sonata floated from the speakers and embraced the room with its melodious fingers.

"Bella, do you happen to have any pajamas Mercy could borrow?" I asked, walking over the threshold and into the gold tinted room.

Bella looked up at me, thought for a second than stood fluidly, moving towards her closet while her hair flowed out behind her. Rummaging through her closet for only a third of second she turned and tossed a pair of slate blue pants towards me and I caught them, feeling the warmth of the cotton in my hands, staring at the familiarity of the hospital pajamas.

I looked at her, "You didn't steal these, did you?"

Bella threw her head back and laughed and the sound was tiny, silver bells tickled by a warm, spring breeze. "Of course not! We had an excess amount of these the last shipment and they handed some out to the employees. Didn't you get any?"

I shook my head, "I guess not. What about the shirt?"

"They didn't hand out any of those for some reason or another. I don't even believe I have a shirt suitable for her." Bella shook her head, sighing. "Alice and her view on clothes…" her voice trailed off.

I smiled and thanked her, darting out of the room and into the hall, moving swiftly to my bedroom. I knew Esme wouldn't have any clothes for the girl and I wouldn't bother Rosalie even if she did.

I shut the door to my bedroom and opened the drawer to my dresser, pulling out a pale blue shirt.

_Mercy_

I shivered, standing naked in the middle of the bathroom, water dripping from my hair and face and running in rivulets down my back and legs. The woman named Esme, with soft-looking, caramel colored hair and a sweet round face, turned only for a brief second before turning back and wrapped a thick, forest-green towel around my body, pinning my arms to my sides, making me feel like a burrito.

I still felt as though I were in shock, as though I wasn't fully grasping the situation I was in. Here I was, surrounded by a houseful of strangers—not at a hospital where I was just last night. The doctor and who I believed to be his wife were extremely nice, which I wasn't used to at all. Maybe it was a cruel trick just to get me to trust them. Then they would turn on me and unleash whatever was in store.

"Are you warm enough?" Esme asked with a warm smile as she massaged another dry towel through my wild ringlets, squeezing the excess water from them.

I nodded, finding that my thin shoulders relaxed as she worked on my hair, gently undoing the tangles. She didn't even comment on the bruises or the gashes on my back. She was very careful though as she worked her way around the wounds. I shivered when her skin touched mine. Her hands were so cold yet she didn't seem bothered since she was wearing a tee-shirt and jeans. Maybe it was just me.

"I'll be right back," she told me, patting me on the head and leaving the bathroom, closing the door behind her. So I stand there, shivering slightly, staring at the image in the mirror beside me.

The girl in the mirror. She's me, yes. But I can't be objective here. Aimee saw the good, envied my complexion, or wished for my hair. But all I saw was a girl, boney and gaunt with too big of eyes shadowed by too many sleepless nights and too pale skin. I see a girl with bruised and torn skin and too many scars to count.

"Aimee," I ask, "is that me? Is that the girl who you said was beautiful? That girl in the mirror?"

I wait, but there is no answer. There is never an answer. I pick up on of the many perfume bottles on the sink, sitting on an ornate tray. Why they had so many I didn't know. I finger the closest bottle. I feel my hand squeezing, squeezing, tighter and tighter until the cover pops off and perfume trickles over my hand.

It smells so much like the perfume my mother used to wear. I stare at the glistening liquid, think of how she had tried to pry Aimee out of me and then sent me to Hell, and I squeeze tighter, but the glass doesn't break.

So I throw a fit.

I throw the perfume bottles at the walls, the windows, and the door. Then, when the mix of musk and jasmine and lily of the valley and rose and lavender has reached a crescendo of skunk stench, I start on the trays. They fly like Frisbees across the overly large bathroom, blanch against the wall, then shatter into fragments of light that shoot back at me in slow motion. The sound of breakage, of silver handles thumping into the walls, of glass splitting along stress lines and hitting the towels with soft sighs, sends me spinning beyond hope, beyond fear.

"_Mercy_!" I hear Carlisle voice and I feel the strength of his arms grabbing me by the shoulders. But I don't care. I watch the thick liquid ooze down the pale walls, sparkling like jewels in the white light. I am tired of hurting. I want someone else to hurt. I want them to know what it felt like as I watched my world come apart, saw the thing I loved the most lying lifeless on the bed. To watch the letting go of urine, which stained her clothes, then the bedspread, then soaked through my own clothes to touch my skin. The feeling that the smell of crap is right for how I felt at that moment, and that I should be sitting in piss. What else should I expect?

But I hadn't expected any of it.

Tonight, heaving and sobbing in stranger's bathroom with a man I hardly knew standing over me clutching me to him even though I was only in a towel, I didn't know how I had gone on and why I continued to live.

"She didn't mean it Rose," he was saying to someone over my head. Esme comes on my other side and smoothes back my hair which was plastered to my forehead and chin. "I'll buy you more—she doesn't know…"

The tears are hot and sticky running down my face; my breathing comes too hard and too fast. I'm shaking so hard that I feel as though that I might go into convulsions. Carlisle held me tightly, preventing me from totally losing it completely. Esme began to gently tug on my arm, trying to break me free.

"Just let her get dressed, Carlisle," Esme said, pulling me from his suddenly protective arms. I could see his limbs were tensed as though he was going to spring up or something. I could feel his eyes on me—I didn't know whether he was angry at me, which he certainly had a right to be. "We need some privacy please."

There was no response to Esme's coaxing.

That was when I raised my head.

There was a woman, more beautiful than I had ever seen, though that was putting it mildly. With blond hair and a face of perfection, she glowered at me, her dark eyes seething. She stood just outside the doorway, beyond Carlisle's form. I felt as though I would melt under her gaze.

I quickly look away, hearing the door close.

"Here sweetie, hold the shirt,"

I nearly gag from the overwhelming stench filling the room. I take the pale blue shirt in shaky hands and buried my face in it, still sobbing as Esme the towel free. I immediately note its sweet scent, not like any cologne or perfume I smelled before. It calms my whip-lash emotions and the sobbing calms, leaving me only breathless and with a pounding headache. With my face still in the shirt, Esme helped me into the cotton pants, bringing warmth to my shivering legs. The adrenaline rush had left me dizzy. I just wanted to sit down and put my head between my knees and let the blood flow back into my head.

"Are you alright?" she asked me in a soft voice. There was no anger.

I lifted my face from the soft shirt but didn't raise my eyes to meet her motherly ones. There was a front pocket with red lettering stitched into it on the front of the shirt. Looking closer I could see it read Emergency Medical Service with the familiar emblem of the snake coiled around the stick. Beneath that read in tiny lettering: Dr. Carlisle Cullen. So this was the doctor's shirt?

"Let me have the shirt now," Esme told me, pulling the shirt from my fingers and gently pulling my stitched arms through the short sleeves. It was way too big and hung from my thin shoulders. But it was comfortable and I guess that what was all that mattered.

"I'm…s-sorry," I whisper in a hitched voice, my throat sore. My tears continued to sprint down my cheeks but I was no longer sobbing and I could feel the throb of my heart slow to a more normal pace. "I r-really didn't m-mean…" I couldn't finish. I suddenly felt her cool fingers brushing away some of the tears from my face.

"I understand," Esme almost cooed at me as she gestured for me to sit on the toilet so that she could pull on some thick wool socks.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, breathing only through my mouth for fear the overwhelming stench would see me whirling into unconsciousness. Esme didn't seem bothered by it but maybe she was a really good actor.

She offered me her hand and I stared at the well-manicured nails and flawless skin. I wondered why I was here, why they were doing all this for me when they didn't even know me. Perhaps my luck had returned.

I took it timidly, shivering when my hand touched her cold one.

"Lets go find Carlisle."

_Carlisle_

"Control was essential here, Rosalie," I pulled the curtains back over the window, almost ripping them from the tract. My hands were shaking. "Do you realize what you almost did?" In my mind I ran over the scene again, wondering what Rosalie might have done if I hadn't gotten there first and I shuddered.

"Do you realize how many years it took to accumulate those," Rosalie shot right back at me in a voice full of icy splinters. "Do you know how expensive those perfumes were Carlisle?"

I felt the hackles rise on the back of my neck. "It was _my_ money, Rose." My words escaped between my clenched teeth in a hiss and I could almost feel my calm exterior ripple.

There was a thick silence. I couldn't remember the last time I had spoken in such a tone and I was pretty sure I had just shocked everyone.

"It's not like you ever really wore the stuff, Rose," Emmett spoke through the sudden tension, throwing an arm about her shoulder. Rosalie had her arms crossed, ignoring Emmett, and continuing to glare at me.

"That is not the point, Emmett," she snapped back. "I don't understand the infatuation you have with this girl but it has to stop." Emmett withdrew, looking surprised at her words.

I could feel the anger flare within me again, a deep animosity rapidly shooting up. I closed my eyes for a brief second than opened them, forcing back the flood and remaining calm. "I resent the fact that you call it an infatuation, Rosalie, when that is not the case at all."

"Or any where near it," Edward added from behind me. He and Bella had come down the staircase at the commotion.

"The girl needed me and I responded. I am a doctor, it is what I do." I couldn't help the sarcasm from showing at the end and Rosalie stiffened because of it. _Calm Carlisle. _I mentally coached myself. Edward smirked. "I already told you that I would pay for another set. There has to be a logical explanation for this." As I spoke, I could hear Esme and Mercy going out of the bathroom and heading back towards the spare bedroom.

"Leave it to you, Carlisle, to bring in some human misfit. Some outcast."

I tensed but didn't speak.

"Lay off Rosalie," Edward snarled. "Stop trying to make everything into a fight just for your sake."

Rosalie hissed. "First you, Edward, now Carlisle. Tell me, are you planning to change this one as well? Or maybe you're going to put her through Hell to finally decide to do it since the Voltera were threatening her."

Bella tensed and she shifted into somewhat a crouch. "That's crossing the line, Rose." She spat.

"What are you going to do about it, Bella?" her voice offered a challenge.

Edward growled—probably her thoughts and moved between her and Bella.

"Stop this!" I demanded, stepping between him and Rosalie. "This is neither the time nor the place. We don't need to be fighting like this, especially with all that's going on."

Rosalie spun around, her hair swirling about her. She broke into a full sprint and jumped from the nearest window in my office, landing with a light thump and speeding off towards the forest. Emmett followed her, glancing only once behind him, looking somewhat apologetic.

Silence.

"Wow," Bella breathed, brushing back the hair from her face and looking at Edward who still looked upset. "Why do think Mercy did that? Broke all those perfume bottles I mean?"

I didn't answer. I continued to stare hard at where Rosalie had once stood, trying to reign in the fiery emotions, threatening to boil over. I clenched my fists, tasting the rush of venom in the back of my throat. I couldn't remember the last time I had come so close to losing my temper. I relaxed my fists and pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut and I froze in that position, stress turning me into a marble statue.

"Carlisle?" Edward said. "Are you alright?" he sounded concerned. I felt as though our roles had suddenly switched. "Carlisle?"

I looked at him then Bella. Calmly, almost serenely, as I stood in the threshold, I spoke: "I'm perfectly fine." I even offered them a smile, hoping to ease their concerns. Bella relaxed slightly, but still looked troubled. Edward wasn't fooled—he was reading me like a billboard. "I'm fine, really."

Then I turned, slamming the door behind me.

I ran up the staircase so fast that my movements almost didn't exist. I could hear them upstairs—Esme and Mercy; they were waiting for me. I slowed as I neared the bathroom, wanting to get my emotions in check before I faced Esme, knowing that she, like Edward, would read my face all too well even though she couldn't read my mind. I retrieved the peroxide from the marble counter along with the sterile gauze pads and flitted to the spare bedroom, taking in several deep breaths before entering.

Mercy was curled up in the middle of the bed with Esme sitting next to her, frowning. I knew she had heard the conversation down stairs. She stood at my entrance and looked as though it was hard for her to walk at a human pace the few feet we were apart.

"What happened down there?" she said so quietly that the girl wouldn't have been able to hear.

"Later, Esme." I turned to the girl who was pulling herself into a sitting position. Her eyes were wary. "I got some medicine for your back." I said with a smile. "I want to make sure there is no infection in them and if there is, I want to kill it as soon as possible so that it won't get any more serious."

The girl didn't move. She lowered her head, her body straight like a wire as I moved towards her, placing a careful hand on her shoulder before cautiously raising the back of her shirt to see the full extent of the wounds. Esme joined me, a hand over her mouth.

My medical training made me fully examine the wounds in less than two seconds. I could see which laceration was infected, which that had just begun to heal, which was one was freshly laid and which was had already been healed for quite some time. But the other part of my brain reeled in horror at such a pitiful shock. All my years of experience, all the things I have seen in my six hundred plus years, could not have prepared me for this. My heart broke as I looked at her spine jutting from the middle of her back; I felt the ribs beneath my hands and I knew that even human eyes could have counted them through her skin. Her shoulder blades stuck out sickeningly. I wondered when the last time she had eaten a decent meal—or any meal at all.

"This will sting," I whispered and my voice broke though I had tried to will it not to. She flinched as I pressed a soaked gauze to one of the gashes. "I'm sorry."

I did this for another ten minutes, watching each piece of split skin bubble when the cleaning liquid made contact, before I pulled the shirt back down over her back. I glanced at Esme and she took her queue and turned, moving slowly out of the room. I drew in a deep, unneeded breath. "How did you get those?" I asked.

She looked at me with those blue eyes and I knew she wouldn't answer and I wished I could somehow read the story behind her eyes, hidden in the deep recesses of her mind.

"Was it an accident?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Still I received no response. Not that I really expected one. She didn't trust me which was understandable since she didn't know me. Without thinking, I lay my hand on her knee. She flinches again and looks down, a splash of pink filling her cheeks. Her disarray of curls gave her an almost child-like appearance. I wondered about her age but say nothing.

Then I notice her hand, slowly, timidly, inch its way towards mine. She touches it with the tip of one finger leaving a hot spot on the back of my hand.

"Your hand is so cold," she whispers to me, not even raising her eyes.

I freeze, my mind going blank briefly before I blinked. I removed my hand. "I never seem to be able to warm them up." I smile, trying to make a joke out of it but Mercy didn't seem to find any humor in it. She withdrew her hand and let it fall limp in her lap. I stared at her and the tip of one of the gashes caught my eye as it peeked out from above the collar of her borrowed shirt.

My voice came out ragged: "Mercy…did someone…" I paused, trying to understand my logic. "Did someone do this to you?"

No answer. But I heard her pulse spike and the already rapid beating of her heart picked up some more.

I see the light dance over her curls and the tears dewing up in her eyes. She struggles to hold them back but seems unable to succeed. Her small, boney hands cover her face but the tears still ooze between her fingers and down her wrists.

"I'm sorry." I whisper once again, knowing I had probably opened up several wounds that she had been trying to close up her self. "I didn't mean anything by it. I was only trying to help."

She drags her fingers down her face several inches and peers over the tips at me. Her face was flushed. "It's not you," her voice comes out strangled and I could hear a hint of an accent in it. "It's not you at all."

I say nothing.

She drops her hands then and there is nothing to catch her tears. They fall unhindered into her lap, creating dark spots on her cotton pants turning what once was blue, an almost black.

"Mercy…"

Her head shoots up and the tears made her eyes look even larger than usual. "I'm sorry about the perfume," she speaks in a rush. "I'm really sorry—I'll pay you back…I don't know why…I mean…I really didn't mean…"

Her sobbing chokes back whatever she's trying to say.

"I don't expect you to…."

She shakes her head, stopping my sentence. She's desperate now. "I promise I won't do anything like that again…_just don't send me back_."

I stare at her, my eyes crinkling up. "What do you mean?" I asked in a pained voice. I crouch down so that I am eye level with her. I grip her by the shoulders.

"Let me stay, Carlisle, let me live here. I don't want to go back there. I want to stay _here_." Mercy begs me in a pitiful voice. She is shaking from my touch but I don't do anything about it. My voice becomes urgent as I speak.

"Back where? Where don't you want to go back?"

Mercy shakes her head, her lip trembling and she begins to blubber but I don't understand what she is saying for she is crying too hard.

"Mercy? Tell me. Tell where you don't want to go back." My voice was imploring. It was imperative that she answered!

But she didn't. Instead, she slumped forward, dropping her head on my shoulder and I feel her hot tears begin to soak through my shirt and she clings to me like a drowning child would its rescuer.

But I couldn't bring myself to pull her out just yet.

"Carlisle, I found something."

I was by Jasper's side in an instant, Esme and Alice along with me.

"That's definitely her," Alice spoke, jabbing her finger at the computer screen. "What is this?"

"It's was from an Ohio newspaper dated back a little over a year ago. It's the only thing I've found so far."

I stared at the picture of the same girl who now upstairs. She certainly looked healthier, but, if nothing at all, extremely distraught. The picture took place in front of a good-sized house. Dawn was breaking and the sky was a splash of pastel colors. She was being held back by two police officers while a body bag was being transported in front of her. She seemed to be trying to grab whoever was in the bag but was unable to do so.

"Does it say her name?" Esme asked.

Jasper shook his head as his eyes scanned the column. "Names are not permitted to be printed of someone under eighteen years of age. They do say that she is fifteen here."

"And?"

Jasper shifted, his eyes narrowing.

"Murder?" Alice gasped, placing her hand flat on the desk as she continued to read.

"But it says that later she was acquitted for the charge of man-slaughter but not of breaking and entering. The medical professionals on the trial have stated that she is mentally unstable and requested that she be sent to a mental institute for protection and for further observation."

"Medical professionals, indeed." I murmured to myself.

Esme looked at me with her sharp eyes. "You think they're wrong."

I pressed my lips together in a firm line before answering. "I've seen many various cases come through the emergency room. That little girl up there is far from insane. She acts out of pure terror. It seems as though she hasn't had any positive, human interaction for the past year." I winced and straightened up from the computer screen, pinching the bridge of my nose as I thought. "What I witnessed up in that room and the wounds that I've had to mend, makes me procure that she's endured too much for someone so young. I almost do not want to know all that she's been through. What happened upstairs was more than a tantrum but what I see as a desperate cry for help. If I hadn't pulled her back, she definitely would have jumped from the window."

Alice tapped the screen and spoke urgently: "Look up the name of the institution."

Jasper clicked the minimize button and googled the name _A Heart for the Hope Mental Hospital_. He clicked the first result and read. "I need a password. It's blocking me from getting in."

"Do you think you can hack your way in?"

"Most definitely. But I'll need about ten minutes or so to decode it all."

"So, what was the reason for you two bringing her here instead of keeping her at the hospital, if I may ask?" Edward had come up behind us and looked at the computer screen. His hair was windblown and damp and his clothes turned dark from the rain. He seemed a lot calmer than before when he had been upstairs with us.

I looked at Alice, not really knowing the answer myself.

"It was a feeling." Alice said, staring her brother in the eye as if daring him to retort.

And retort he did. "A _feeling_? How about a vision? What happened to those?"  
"The visions were disturbing as well but extremely hard to decipher. Edward, you just got to trust me. Please just trust me."

Edward sighed but continued to frown. "Did she at least tell you her name?"

"Mercy," I answered.

"Seems appropriate."

Both Esme and Alice shot him a glare but before anyone could say anything Jasper interrupted.

"I got it!" he announced and everyone leaned forward in anticipation.

"It's medical data," I observed, "Used only by the doctors of the hospital…do you think you can look up her name or picture?"

Jasper complied and began the search and my eyes studied to information as it scrolled past. I began to get a sinking feeling in my stomach and I could see it on everyone else's faces as well, the look of dread, but Edward was the first one to say it.

"That's not a mental health hospital," he growled, his eyes turning dark with anger and his fist started to clench and unclench.

Alice looked sallow. "No, it's not. It only puts up the front of being a mental health hospital."

"It's an experimentation lab." I finished, taking in a deep breath. "But what are they experimenting?"

"Not anything good." Alice spat, her hands clenching her hair as though she struggled for control.

I ignored her and leaned closer to the computer. "Click on the News Reports link."

A series of dates popped up and information under them.

I saw then what I was looking for. It read: _An essential patient has been missing since the day before yesterday. As of procedure, please wipe out any copy of information that you have of experiment is under category 589 and blood analysis will continue until further notice. Blood was tested positive of the substance as were three others. They are still under lockdown and extreme security measures have been taken. Please continue your daily schedule._

"Look for the category it listed. Find out what it is."

Jasper complied once more, giving no sound except the clicking of the keys as he typed.

Alice read aloud for everyone to hear though it was deemed unnecessary. "Category 589 is the blood of patients who have been tested positive for the substance 222…"

"What's with all the numbers?" Esme crinkled her face. "Sounds like some sort of FBI agency riddled with math equations." I laid a hand on her shoulder and Alice continued:

"…and has shown physical signs of 222 when put under extreme stress at the early stages but as it progresses, will be displayed under little or no stimulus."

I looked at Alice. She looked at me then glanced at Edward. "There's your answer, Edward. The girl is used for experimentations. Need anything else?"

Edward didn't answer.

I turned away from the computer screen, feeling nauseous. I put my face into my hands and slump against the wall, sliding all the way to the floor. _Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. _

"Carlisle? Are you alright?" Edward asked for the second time that day.

"Carlisle?" Esme whispers, touching my arm. "Are you alright?"

I could only moan one word.

"No."

_It feels like I have lost this fight_

_They think that I am staying down_

_But I'm not giving up tonight_

_Tonight the wall is coming down_

_I am stronger than my fears_

_This is the mountain that I climb_

_Got one hundred steps to go_

_Tonight I'll make it ninety-nine_


	5. Chapter 5

Tell me I can make it through this day

I don't even have the words to pray

You've been the only one who never left me

Help me find a way through all my fears

Help me see the light through all my tears

Help me see that I am not alone in this

_Babysitting…that's what Kates did almost nonstop when she wasn't at school or with us. If it wasn't her little brother she had to supervise, it was some group of monsters from her neighborhood. And if not that, her parents' friends always needed someone reliable to watch their precious brats when some big dinner of wedding came up._

_Reliable. That's Kates. With her chin length hair, always brushed until the red highlights outshone the brown, and her neat, relaxed way of dressing—sweaters, turtlenecks, colored jeans or khakis—she always looked like a kid you could count on not to cause trouble._

_And as far as I know, she caused trouble only once in her life of her own accord. Aimee and I—and sometimes the guys—led her on some pretty wild rides, but she never started the car, as it were. Only once did she initiate the action, and then it was Aimee and I who went along, at least for a little while._

_Of course, the ride also involved babysitting. The only good thing I could see about babysitting was the money. Kates was always rolling in it. She wasn't tight with it either. She willingly financed lots of stuff for us, including gas for tooling around in Jason's parents' old car and movie nights, as long as we provided the entertainment. _

_Anyway, Kates's wild ride started with a call from a desperate mother who needed someone to watch her darling little nine-month-old girl while she danced off with a gaggle of friends to celebrate the fortieth birthday of a school chum. She'd heard of Kates though Kates's mother and called her._

_Kates was available, but she told the woman when she agreed to take the job that she had two friends in babysitting training._

_"Can they come too?" she asked. We were sitting on her bed when she asked, and we smirked. We knew that all these women wanted to get every teenage girl involved in babysitting so they would have a larger pool of babysitting choices, and, therefore, a better shot of getting out of their houses when they wanted to. It was the riskiest thing Kates did—asking us come with her on jobs. But the women were over a barrel—they'd have agreed to just about anything to have the renowned Kates sit for them._

_Aimee and I rarely went with Kates at the start of the evening. We usually joined her later, when the worst parts of the job were over. We didn't want to shovel spoonfuls of green slime at a moving mouth or scrub the dirty little body afterward. We left that stuff to Kates._

_This night was no exception. When we arrived, the mother had been gone for two hours and wasn't due home for another three. So we had a good chunk of time to try out different makeup and fingernail polishes—if she had any good kinds. Or we could raid the cupboards if they were loaded with sugared cereals, snacks, and treats._

_Kates greeted us with a worried frown, the first sign that something was wrong. The second sign of looming trouble was that she was holding the baby. She usually had mobile babies occupied in some game, like dancing to music or finding stuffed doggies. The non-mobile ones she usually had asleep by seven-thirty._

_"What's up?" Aimee asked. Sort of a routine question, but she must have also sensed a difference in Kates, because she didn't toss the question out and plop onto the nearest couch. Instead, she stared around the unusually messing room. A powder bottle, wipes, spare diapers, a sippy cup, pacifiers, toys, a washcloth, a towel, and the baby's clothes lay in disarray on the couch and floor. Kates was a fanatical cleaner, which was another reason she was so popular as a babysitter. She could play with kids, visit us, and still leave the house a heck of a lot cleaner than when she arrived._

_Kates's response knocked us flat. "Thank God you're here. I can call the police now."_

_"What?" both Aimee and I shouted. The baby started crying. But she wasn't really crying. It was more like a soft whining, like a puppy that's hungry but knows if it howls of barks, it will be kicked._

_"See what you've done!" Kates said. She bent over the baby and crooned to her, swaying her whole body and brushing the little girl's cheek with a finger._

_"Us?" Aimee said. "You're the one calling the police. What did you think we'd say when you greeted us with that?"_

_Kates looked at Aimee like she had proposed frying the baby in oil. She only assumed I-know-more-than-you-do role when she was babysitting. She spun away and walked to the couch. She laid the baby down and began to strip the clothes off her, working quickly but gently._

_Aimee and I glanced at each other, then shrugged. Aimee sat in the chair opposite the TV, and I headed for the kitchen._

_"Wait," Kates said. She pushed her hair behind one ear and continued crooning to the infant as she undressed her. When she finished, she said in an awed whisper, "Come here."_

_I sighed and strolled over. Aimee heaved herself up from the chair, dropping the channel flicker as she rose. We glanced at each other. What was so new and different about this baby that she had to make such a fuss about?  
A large black, purple, yellow, and green bruise across one shoulder and halfway down her back was what was different. Several other bruises, mostly older and yellow-er, decorated the skinny backside of the girl._

_I stepped back. "Oh!"_

_Aimee looked away._

_"That's not all," Kates said, her voice still low. She slipped her hands under the baby's armpits and turned her over. The girl whimpered. When Kates moved her hands, she revealed what looked like a long, slender burn on the baby's chest. It was angry and red and oozing._

_"Okay," I said. "So calling the police might not be a bad idea. What do you know about these people?"_

_"They're friends of my parents." Kates said, covering the baby back up. "My parents will flip if I call. But this is awful."_

_"Did they say anything before they left?" I asked. Aimee retrieved the flicker from the floor and with glazed eyes, clicked through the channels. Music filled the room and she dropped the remote again. She wasn't looking at us, but I could tell she was listening._

_"They didn't tell me to do her bath. I just assumed. Everyone wants me to give the kids a bath. Then they don't have to do it." Kates stopped. "Maybe I shouldn't have?"_

_"You'd have had to change her at some point, wouldn't you?' I said. "I mean, they stink up their diapers pretty regularly from what I can tell, and wouldn't you have seen some of it then?" why were we justifying Kates behavior? I wondered. She'd done nothing wrong. Aimee still said nothing, but an angry fierceness lit her eyes._

_"I don't know if I would have noticed the bruises on her butt. It's pretty dim in her bedroom. The light bulb by the changing table doesn't work. I might have missed them." Kates scooped the baby against her and cradled her head into the crook of her shoulder. The baby tried to snuggle, but after wiggling around for a moment, she poked her butt out by tucking her knees under her hips. At last she closed her eyes. "In babysitting class they tell you to turn cases of abuse to a responsible adult. But who?"_

_"Your parents," I said. "I vote for your parents. Tell them, and they can take it from here. Maybe there's a logical explanation for the bruises."_

_"And the burn?" she asked. "Explain a burn on a baby's chest. I think it looks like a curling iron did it." She shuddered and hugged the baby closer. The little girl struggled for a moment, and Kates loosened her hold. But something was irritating the little girl. She began a series of small cries that never became wails, but sounded mournful._

_"If I tell my parents first," Kates said over the baby's cries, "then I have to leave her here. With them."_

_"Give her to me," Aimee extended her hands. Her foot tapped the floor._

_Kates and I both stared at her. She'd never asked to hold a baby before. If Kates asked for our help it was me who always caved—and then failed at whatever she asked._

_"Give her to me, you're holding her wrong," Aimee said. She took the little girl from Kates's arms and wrapped her in a blanket. She shifted the baby's weight so that she lay curled against Aimee on her side, belly to belly, but barely touching. "You were holding her with all the pressure on her injuries." She sat back in her chair, the baby resting against her, and stared at the music video on TV._

_Kates and I sat on the couch, while Kates idly folded and refolded towels and dirty clothes. After a while, she carried them upstairs. When she came back down, she said, "I still don't know what to do."_

_"I told you what to do," I said._

_"Pass the buck," Kates said, making it sound like what I'd suggested amounted to leaving the kid in a snow bank naked._

_"Defer to higher power," I said. "Don't you think your parents will do anything? Do you really think they'll wait and not call?"_

_She shook her head. "It's just the thought of leaving her with them for even a little while longer. I can't wake my parents up when I get home. It'll be too late."_

_"Why not? They won't care considering the circumstances."_

_"I don't know." Kates bit at the skin on the side of her index finger. _

_"So call the damn police and get it over with," Aimee said. "It's what you want to do. It's what you should do. It's abuse, isn't it? Do you doubt that? So call the police." Aimee lunged for the phone and dialed before we could get out jaws off the floor. "Hello," she said after a moment. She pulled the phone's base closer and read the emergency sticker on it. "Please come to 4678 Tulip Drive. It's an emergency. There's an injured baby here." She paused. "No, I can't stay on the line. I'm alone here. Just come fast."_

_She hung up. Standing up, she passed the baby to Kates, then grabbed my arm. "We'll be waiting down the block. We'll come back after the cops arrive, saying that we saw the lights and knew you were here." She paused. "The fewer of us here, the better." Dragging me to the door, she said over her shoulder. "We'll be back."_

_But we didn't come back because Kates called her parents as soon as the cops arrived, and then the baby's parents had to be located, but by then the social workers had arrived. The paramedics were also there. The reporters next. They listened to the police radio, I guess._

_We went home after they took the baby away and before they arrested the parents, but it was on the eleven o'clock news, so I watched it then._

_Kates stayed out of camera range and, with her parents' help and the police's, managed to slip out the back way. She never allowed her name to be used, even when X-rays revealed broken ribs and other injuries on the baby. She was clearly a heroine, or rather, Aimee and Kates were heroines._

_Kates's parents lost several friends over the whole thing. Sides were taken just like a playground battle, and some people chose to support the abusers. Those idiots said that all parents have the right to discipline their children as they see fit. Some people suggested that Kates needed a little discipline, too. They viewed her as a meddler and home breaker. Aimee's father and stepmother, despite their rightwing religion, became closer to Kates's parents. They were being two-faced and should have stuck with their own kind, but they didn't. They went for the image of normalcy._

_Kates stopped taking jobs with people she hadn't already babysat for, saying she was too busy, but she was just afraid._

_And Aimee? She never talked about the baby or babysitting again. She wouldn't go with Kates anymore either. Sometimes people would plead her to watch their kids, knowing she took care of her little brother a lot, but she never would._

_She said the pay wasn't worth it._

_But I remember the ashen color of her face, the hollowness of her cheeks, and the expression in her eyes as she took that little girl in her arms and cradled her against her belly. Sure, I felt sick at heart when I saw the poor little thing, and I even sniffed a little, but it wasn't the same for me as for Aimee. Nor was it the same for Kates, although it hit her hard._

_Maybe that's why she called the police so fast. Only Aimee understood._

***

"You look so adorable!" Alice gushed over me causing me to blush in spite of myself. I look down at my ensemble, twisting my neck to get a better view of it. I couldn't remember the last time I had been given new clothes.

She had found an extra small but the sweatshirt still hung slightly from my frame. The hooded sweatshirt was a pale blue with a flowery design upon the left shoulder in a darker blue.

"It brings out the color of your eyes," she had exclaimed. "Be sure not to wear too many dark colors with such dark eyes. Pale should always be the way to go."

I wore a pair cotton pants the color of a light gray with flashy pockets on the sides. My feet bore thick, wool socks that matched the color of the sweatshirt.

"Comfortable but still fashionable." Alice had commented, her angelic face bright with excitement. "Once you gain a little weight, it'll be so much easier to fit you better." She then squirted mousse in her hands then rubbed them together. She began to massage the substance through my hair and her touch sent shivers snaking down my back. "This will define your curls and it takes out the frizz."

I remained silent through it all, letting the pixie-like girl treat me like her own life-sized Barbie doll. As she ran the sudsy stuff through my hair, I stared at my hands, as the little scars overlapping themselves on my palms. I began to count them, shifting my weight from side to side, humming under my breath.

"What do you think, Jasper?"

My breath hitched in my throat as Alice suddenly took me by the hand and twirled me around. When I had fully turned a three-sixty, I found myself, rather breathlessly, staring at a tall, lean man was blond hair and dark eyes. Of course, the features of his face were perfect like the rest of the strange family but his expression was the scariest I had yet seen. He studied me with imperceptible eyes and my heart began to pound; I had the sudden to urge to back away but knew I couldn't since Alice was standing right behind me.

Then he gave me a slight smile and I suddenly found myself relaxing despite my surroundings. A calm wave of serenity swept through me and my shoulders nearly drooped from the relief.

"You want to see yourself in the mirror?" Alice trilled sweetly, her smile radiant, her pride of her obvious accomplishment shining through her topaz eyes.

But before I could answer, she had already taken my hand and was pulling me to the bathroom, her hand an icy touch to mine. It seemed everyone who had touched me so far had cold skin—it was true that body temperatures vary depending on the person but all in one family? My mind tried to make some sort of connection.

"Close your eyes," Alice demanded.

Bewildered, I obeyed, fluttering my eyelids shut, feeling the prickles of goosebumps blossoming up my arms. I heard the flick of the light switch and the insides of my lids were suddenly flooded with red.

"Okay, go ahead and open your eyes."

I open my eyes, slowly, hesitantly, and stared. I barely recognized her. Sure, the girl in the mirror was still gaunt and pale but there was now the hint of a rosy tint to her hollow cheeks and the wildness of her untamed curls was now an array of soft ringlets swirling about her face. A silver clip, nearly hidden by a tiny bow the palest of blue pulled back a few wisps from my temple.

"Beautiful, isn't she?"

"Quite."

I gave a start and looked around.

Esme and Bella had joined Alice. They were both smiling. Bella touched my hair tenderly.

"You did a wonderful job, Alice." She said.

Alice beamed like a proud sunflower. "I know."

I blushed and ducked my head, embarrassed by all the attention I was receiving.

"Now lets go show the others, I know they'd love to see." Alice danced out of the bathroom, a joyous beat to her step. Bella followed her gracefully and a lot more calmly, her face a picture of serenity as though nothing in the world could break through the calm. I lingered back, unsure.

Esme offered me her hand, a face gentle and welcoming. "Come, lets follow the others."

I shook my head.

"I want to go to my room."

I didn't want to be in the middle of a group of spectators like I was the winning ornament at a zoo. The room they had allowed me to stay in had become my safe haven the short time I stayed there. Right now, it seemed like the best place to be, away from it all where people can't stare and gawk.

"Later," she says with a smile. I didn't want to refuse, fearing that if I did it would make her angry with me after all she had done already.

But I hated when people touched me. I didn't want help—I didn't want anybody. All I wanted was to stay curled up in the dark, maybe where the voices couldn't get to me, where the world forgot that I existed and I could hide. Just hide.

My mom once had this crazy idea that she wanted to breed the tawny pug that we owned and perhaps make a business of it. And several months later we had tiny puppies scurrying around with tiny, curled tails and little black faces and their paws no bigger than my thumb. They were now used to walking and were as curious as ever: attempting to climb our staircase, barking at the pool balls we had because they were so much bigger than them.

One day, one of them peed on our planked floor. It's not like we hadn't had an accident before. Besides, the puppies weren't even eight weeks old yet so they didn't fully understand that going in the house was a big _no_. The accident was hardly bigger than a quarter and I was going to clean it up but Mom suddenly flipped out. She grabbed the puppy by the scruff of his neck and smashed its face into the puddle in front of me, screaming at it as she smacked its bottom several hard times. Well, since the puppy was so small, about the size of her hand, she was actually smacking its whole body.

The puppy squealed out in terror and pain, not able to understand the sudden onslaught. When she finally released it, it ran, stumbling and wobbly away its tiny floppy ears flying back as it ran off.

I was stunned. Speechless. My heart searing for the poor thing. But I was afraid to move for fear she would turn on me. How could Mom done such a thing to it? It was just a baby, barely able to walk without its tiny legs wobbling and giving away.

When Mom had left for work, I spent several hours looking for the pug puppy. I finally found it in the kitchen. It was huddled up in the darkness, shivering, hiding in the small space between the fridge and the wall. It looked at me with its large eyes that seemed too big for such a small face but didn't move.

When I reached to grab it, it whimpered and pressed itself into the dirty corner. Sobbing, I tried to coax it out, gently murmuring and cooing. After a good twenty minutes, I was able to wiggle close enough and it pull it towards. I cupped it in my hands and brought its shivering body close to my chest, my hot tears creating spots on its velvet fur, and I did my best to hide it away from the world, trying to show that I was protecting it in my hands, that it needn't be afraid any longer. It continued to shiver, whimpering, its little body huddled to me.

When I woke up the next morning, the puppy lay dead beside me.

"You're safe, Mercy," Esme whispered, tearing back the curtain of my memories. "Come now." Her hand waited. Slowly, I nod.

I reluctantly follow Esme down their massive staircase, marveling at the majestic beauty of the house or should I say mansion. When I peered in between the banister poles, I saw the people down the staircase, each a picture of devastating beauty that sent me into mild shock. My heart began to pound and I felt my palms break into a clammy sweat.

What was this place? Some kind of heaven on earth where angels roamed freely, undeterred by the human race? Angels without wings I guess. I grip the banister tightly with both hands, feeling the pain that lanced up my arms and I realized that the pain medication was beginning to wear off and my body was beginning to feel achy once more and my joints groaned with each movement.

Esme waited as I surveyed my surroundings.

Alice stood at the bottom of the staircase, bouncing in what I guessed to be excitement. Why she was excited, I had no clue. I pause for a moment taking in the scene before me. Bouncing Alice, patient Esme, unreadable Edward, distant Bella, and then the tall blond with piercing eyes, and then there was another one. A much…_larger_ one. His body seemed to be the epitome of muscles. Huge bands of it stretched his shirt over his chest and biceps.

What. The. Heck.

I look at Esme, hoping she could see the desperation I screamed at her with my eyes. She met me wide-eyed gaze with solemn eyes as though she completely understood the emotions shooting from me. Then she smiled a light smile and offered me her hand again.

I threw my eyes over the banister again, hoping to spot the doctor, the one person who I had grown slightly comfortable with. But he wasn't there and just that fact sent my emotions spiraling downward. I take a step up back towards the top of the staircase, feeling overwhelmed by the moment, contemplating escape. I take a deep breath in and glare at Esme before turning to look through the poles.

Jasper winced towards me just as I looked at him then relaxed his face until it was slate of non-emotion. My despair that had tossed me towards a sudden depression was suddenly dissolving. So quickly, in fact, that it startled me. I stared hard at Jasper, trying to figure out what he had done and how he had done it.

"Mercy,"

That familiar voice sent my head swiveling and I let go of Esme's hand.

It was the doctor. Carlisle. The one who had taken me away from the hellish hospital. My personal savior. He stands across the room, watching me with tranquil eyes.

"You must be hungry." He says, his voice merely the whisper of the wind but I still heard it, as though my ears had already attuned to the sound of his voice.

Just the word sent me salivating. I couldn't remember the last decent meal I had. Well, for that matter, I couldn't remember the last time I had actually eaten. But it didn't matter now.

I lower myself back down a step, my stomach growled its protest at my hesitance.

"We have some soup in the dining room. Would you like to join me?" He prodded, quirking an eyebrow at me to punctuate his question.

Wait, I coach myself. Just wait. My heart throbbed towards the idea of decent food. I didn't care what it was—I would even eat a bowl of soupy spinach if that was what they had for me. And I was about ready to bound forth. But _they_ were suddenly there. The voices. I mean.

_'Trussstt no one.'_

The hissing voice sent a shiver done my spine.

_'The moment you begin to trust is the moment you lose the battle. You trusted your parents: look what happened. You trusted those doctors: look what you are now. These people don't want to help you—they want to use you.'_

No. No. No. No. My head pounds with the chorus. I'm near hyperventilating. Downstairs, Jasper puts his forehead in his palm as though he has a headache. And I felt one also, growing in the back of my head. No. No. No. No.

Carlisle studies me with quiet eyes, no emotion on his face.

Then he reaches his hand towards me. "You're okay," he soothes and his voice is nearly seductive, pulling at my senses, tugging me towards him like polar opposites being drawn together.

_Get back! _I command them, furrowing my eyebrows in concentration. They weren't at all overpowering which seemed bitter sweet. There was no pain involved but it gave me the premonition that they'll come back worse pretty soon.

"Come eat, Mercy; your food is getting cold."

I was too happy to oblige, my stomach grumbling from need. With Esme's hand on my elbow I hobbled down the rest of the staircase and let them lead me to the dining room.

Their dining room was outrageously huge and the table seemed to belong in better settings such as a royal dining hall with a purple endowed king and a snobbish queen sitting like peacocks at the head of the table.

Carlisle pulled out a chair for me and I sat down on the luxurious cushion. There, in front of me, was a steaming bowl of soup and a silver, ornate spoon, accompanied by a glass of water.

I didn't know what to do.

Though my stomach begged me to gulp it all down, the rest of me felt as though it were a trap, that maybe this was just some big, elaborate dream that fate will inevitably reach out and snatch from me at any moment.

How cruel fate can be.

"It's not going to bite you," Alice's singing voice trilled from behind me lanced with the musical bells of laughter. "Go ahead and eat."

I couldn't actually remember the movement but I suddenly found myself stuffing spoonfuls of broth into my mouth, feeling the warmth caress my throat and soothe my aching stomach.

There must be a god in heaven.

"Slow down, I promise you it won't run away."

Carlisle put a restraining hand on my arm, stopping the soup from reaching my mouth and causing the liquid to splash from the spoon and onto the lacy table cloth.

My face flooded with embarrassment when I noticed that everyone had filed in and was watching me with unblinking eyes.

Carlisle noticed my wary gaze towards the gorilla one.

"That's my son Emmett," he introduced with a nod. "He only looks intimidating."

Emmett grinned wildly my direction and I flinched involuntarily.

He only looks intimidating. Whatever.

"You've met the rest of them," Carlisle continued, sitting in the chair next to me. "The one who isn't here is Rosalie, but you'll meet her soon enough."

I saw Edward and Bella exchange such fleeting glances that I wondered if I had only imagined it.

I didn't answer. I fidgeted under everyone's gaze.

"We like guests," Alice said as though she knew what I had been thinking, taking the spot on the other side of me and propping her elbow up on the table so that she could rest her chin in her palm.

Emmett sputtered out a laugh.

I thought I saw Carlisle roll his eyes.

I looked back at my soup but I suddenly wasn't hungry.

_'You can't always hide.'_

I pressed my hand to my head, wincing. Please just stop.

"Are you okay?" Carlisle's voice was gentle and concerned. His hand touched my back and I flinched again.

"I'm not hungry." I spoke in a quiet, fearful voice. I wasn't sure how he would react to my seemingly ungratefulness.

"I understand," he spoke, taking the bowl and handing it to Esme. Then he crouched down to be eye level with me. "I didn't expect you to eat it all on your first sitting. But I need you to drink this for me." He held out a tiny plastic cup filled nearly to brim with dark red liquid. How he had gotten it: I had no idea. But the look of it terrified me.

"I'm not drinking blood." I spoke in a whiplash reaction, horror in my voice.

Silence.

Then Carlisle laughed aloud, the first I had ever heard him laugh and for a moment I was distracted by the sound. It sounded nearly unrealistic and I had to turn and study him to confirm that it was really him laughing.

"It's medicine, actually." He chuckled. "Vitamins that are essential to your body for healing which you, at the moment, are lacking."

I scrunched up my nose and gingerly received the odd gift. I brought it to my lips, preparing to take a sip. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Carlisle cleared his throat. "You might want to just gulp it. Down it all at once. I won't lie and say it's the best tasting substance on earth."

I felt slightly worried by his comment but followed his advice, wanting to get this all over with so I can retreat to my room. I tilted my head back and poured it all in.

Alarms screamed in my head

The vile stuff sent my eyes flying open and I gagged, spewing the medicine out onto the white carpet, coughing and spitting, doing my best to be rid of the horrid taste. My stomach heaved once, twice than it all emptied out of me with near violent force.

Vomit spilled over Carlisle's left shoulder and down the front of his white shirt, splattering the carpet garishly with yellow spots.

I burst into tears, feeling ashamed and sick.

I sat in my own puke, my new clothes ruined, my throat burning, and a disgusting taste permanently in my mouth.

And Carlisle sat there, vomit oozing down his shirt and a frown on his face.

_***Carlisle_

That didn't go too well.

She looked at me with utter dismay, tears gushing from her eyes and puke down the front of her shirt. What a pitiful sight indeed.

My dead heart went out to her and I stood, her vomit dripping from the hem of my shirt.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean…" she blubbered, her voice hysterical. She cowered away from me as though she thought I would hit her and I felt a swell of anger within me which I quickly pushed back.

"I'm not mad at you," I say pacified her. "but I think I need to go get changed."

Jasper had left the room but Edward and Bella lingered behind Esme. Edward was smirking and Bella had a hand over her mouth and nose.

"I'll take Mercy," Alice offered as I turned away and walked slowly, calmly towards the staircase where I fell into a sprint towards my room.

"That didn't go too well," Edward had followed me into the bedroom. There was laughter in his voice.

"Can't say I didn't try." I responded, pulling the shirt over my head. "I've had worst things thrown on me in the ER, can't really complain. Maybe I can get it in pill form."

"Maybe you can get her the little Flintstones ones." Edward joked.

"She's not a child. She's a growing teenager. At least she should be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Can't you see, Edward? You've been to medical school haven't you?" I pulled a pale brown shirt from my drawer and pulled it over my head. "As awkward as it sounds, she does not seem to be developing."

"Is that a bad thing?" Edward asked, "I mean, it's different for all girls, isn't it. Some start sooner, some start later."

"Hmm…maybe." was all I said.

"That's what the vitamins were for?" he guessed.

"It promotes hormonal growth. It was all natural—not like those steroids or whatever."

Edward grimaced and looked out the window. For a moment, there was silence as he and I became lost in our own contemplating as I threw away the soiled shirt in the bathroom trashcan. Then he turned to me, his expression serious. "It hurts to hear her thoughts." He said out of the blue.

"What do you mean." I thought over this quickly, trying to piece together a puzzle that wasn't quite working out. What he speaking in terms of a Bell thing or was this entirely new.

"I mean, I hear her thoughts…somewhat. Sometimes it's easier but most of the time all I get is a jumble of thoughts all smashed together…many voices all using one microphone but not saying the same thing. It gives me a hell of a headache."

"Voices as in plural." I asked, narrowing my eyes at this new detail. Pluralizing would mean that several beings existed in one body which was overly impossible _and _improbable.

"I don't know." He paused. "But I bet _she_ does. I think she holds a lot of answers that you are looking for."

"Yes, but to get her to tell me them is a whole other issue." I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest.

"She trusts you." He paused. "That's about the only thing I can decipher."

I felt a sort of satisfaction well up in my chest but I didn't say anything. I watched the intricate snowflakes flutter to the ground, creating a light dusting on the earth below it.

"Maybe it's just me, but I have this feeling that there's a lot more going on than we realize." Edward had a dark look on his face. "But I can't quite put my finger on it. Alice can't help at all as well for she's having as much trouble as I am."

"What about Bella?"

"Bella…well, she cares for the girl as much as anyone else would…except for Rosalie, I guess. But I know there's something."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Only time will tell that."

"Carlisle, we have a problem."

I turned to see Alice standing in the doorway, her face whiter than bone and her eyes dark and wide. Mercy wasn't anywhere in sight.

"_No_," Edward hissed, his body tensing.

"What?" I demanded.

"Werewolves," they both answered in unison—a tenor and soprano.

Alarm bells went off in my head. My senses became suddenly hyperaware of everything around me. The smells, sounds, colors, and lights…everything coming into an extreme focus.

"When?"

"Now!" Alice cried above the explosion of wood echoed from below and the stench of wet dog hit me with force followed by the yelling of frantic voices.

I was down the staircase in less than three-fourths of a second and I nearly cringed at the sight.

Jacob's hulking form seemed to take up nearly half the room. Seth, Paul, Sam, and Quil stood behind him each seeming to gasp breathlessly in complete amalgamation.

"What's going on?" I asked as Edward crouched beside me.

"They were heading this way from the East but then turned sharply North—their sent is unfamiliar." Jacob used wild gestures, his face pale beneath the russet skin. "We came as soon as possible. I don't know if they smelled us or not and that was why they turned away—I can't be sure."

"Who?" Edward demanded who was flanked by Emmett and Jasper. Esme was halfway down the staircase, frozen against the banister. Alice hovered next to me and Bella stood near the kitchen, eyes locked on Jacob. She too was frozen.

"Vampires. A lot of them."

_Vampires._

My blood ran cold.

I thought I was going to pass out when I realized I was breathing in short, panicked puffs.

_No. No. No…oh, god…no…_

Not again.

"Carlisle!" Bella' voiced rang shrilly. And as if each one of their heads were attached to an invisible string every head turned to look up at me. My heart performed a violent paroxysm in my chest. I was done for.

A feral instinct of survival clutched at me and I bolted like a bat from hell for the room, ignoring the screams of my wounds and the ache of my muscles.

_I had to get out of here._

I slammed the door shut, unbelievable terror ripping me apart.

_Vampires. Vampires._

I throw myself at the window, nauseating spurts of adrenaline coursing through my veins and the world spins.

"NO!" I scream.

The window was nailed shut, like I was a prisoner again. What I had tried to get away from, never was going to quite following me.

I spun around, looking for the duffel bag but it wasn't where I left it.

My shoulders drag up and down, I gag on air, the floor beneath me sways and lurches.

_'I told you,' _They whisper. _'You should have trusted us…never trust anyone else. We told you they were vampires, just like the other ones…'_

With skin crawling, I fling my body on the bed, sobbing, and I bury my face in the pale blue shirt strewn across the pillow.

But then I realized whose it belonged to and I hurl it against the wall so hard that it hurt my arm.

"Mercy,"

I shriek when I see Carlisle standing in the middle of my room, the door behind him shut.

With a wild Spiderman move, I leap to my feet and launch myself off the bed towards the wall, doing everything within my will power to create as much distance as possible between us.

Like it would do any good.

"Mercy, listen to me,"

My heart sped off like a runaway train with no hope of stopping. My head grows hot and my skin grows cold.

"Vampire!" My voice explodes out of me and I pitch a glass figurine towards Carlisle. It hit the wall next to him with a horrid sound, smashed into a billion pieces. He didn't even flinch.

"You're a vampire!" I spoke in ragged bursts, my voice thick with insinuation.

"It's not what you think, Mercy—" Carlisle moved towards me and I scream again, this time my cry rising into a murderous falsetto.

He freezes, his face stricken. It was an unnatural stillness.

"_Murderer_!" the venomous wail came from deep within my gut. My brashness surprised me but I didn't care anymore. It's not like I had anything to live for. "You blood-sucking murder!"

He shakes his head but said nothing, his hands held out in caution.

"Aimee was right!" I pound on the wall with my fists, feeling the vibrations, hearing the echo, and feeling the jarring pain it shot up my arms. "It all ends the same way! You can't trust anybody."

I collapse, my hands still weakly pounding the floor till there was no point.

Grief can be such a strange emotion. Sometimes it comes softly, unexpectedly, like a whisper of wind curling its self through a thick forest—barely noticed. Other times, though, it comes on suddenly, forcefully, grabbing your heart in a fist of iron misery, dragging you down to dark, depression filled depths.

And that was how I felt—as though my heart was sinking deeper and deeper and, at points, I felt as though I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, that my lungs were refusing oxygen. My stomach aches.

I curl into a fetal position. I couldn't wait to die.

Sort of like Aimee. She couldn't wait either. Everyone asked afterward what drove her to suicide, and we told them what we knew. But no one believed us. They thought there had to be more. That her life wasn't bad enough for her to kill herself.

People who have never come close to seeking death don't understand its promise of an end to life's struggles. They don't understand the precarious teeter-totter on which a suicidal person balances on, shuffling reasons to live and reasons to die back and forth to avoid hitting bottom. They don't understand that when you're that low, when you can't see beyond yourself and your fallen-apart world, it's the little things that send you over the edge, not the big things.

And sometimes it is the littlest things that keep you going, too.

For the longest time the little thing that kept Aimee going was her cat. No one cared for that fat football of a cat like she did. She once asked me what I thought of her cat, and I answered, "She's a lazy cow. Why do you have her?"

Aimee stared at me in disgust, hands on her hips, then she gathered the ball of flesh she called a cat to her, and started flicking through the TV channels.

As channel after channel passed before my eyes and the silence grew between us, I knew I had flunked a test. But later I realized that I was a good thing I flunked it. If I was unworthy of caring for her cat, then Aimee had to keep going.

But Aimee's cat died. And it died on the same day that Aimee's dad walked out and left her with her stepmother for two weeks without even a letter or a phone call.

He left her with nothing.

A cold hand on my back jerks me back to reality but I don't have the strength to fight it any more. I lay there, crying quietly, gasping and shaking.

"Deep breaths, Mercy." Carlisle whispers in my ear and I feel his icy breath against my skin and the sweetness of it wafts up my nose. "Just take deep breaths."

And I did.

_So keep breathing  
Go on breathe in  
Keep on breathing  
Go on breathe in  
Just breathe_


	6. Chapter 6

Each breath breathed means I'm alive

And life means that I can find

The reasons to keep on getting by

And if reasons I can't find

I'll make up some to get by

Till breath by breath I'll leave this behind

_No one would believe Aimee. Not a soul._

_Things like that don't happen. Things like that never happen, especially in families like theirs._

_"Have you ever told anyone?" I whispered. "Haven't you told your mother?"_

_"When?" She snapped. "The last time I saw her I was fourteen. I was never alone with her. There was always other people there, friends, family, my brother. And he praised the bitch so high that Mom began to believe she'd done the right thing. By then she'd had four or five boyfriends. Later, I'd try to call, but she was always on her way out, always with someone. I don't think she answers the phone when she's alone. So now I have an unavailable mother and a stepmother who makes me feel so ugly and dirty and ashamed. I mean, what guy would want me? I'm a lesbian."_

_"You are not!"_

_"What am I, then? I don't know. What am I?" She rocked and rocked and rocked._

_"I'll kill her," I said. "Chad and Kyle and Jason, even Kates would help. We'll kill her."_

_"Don't be ridiculous." She sounded tired. She unsnaked her long legs and stretched them out before her—long, slender, shapely. She saw me looking and pulled the blanket over them._

_"Then I'll tell my parents. My mother will help you. She's a lawyer." I didn't add that she would love such a sensational case and the renown it would bring her, especially if she won. "All we have to do is prove what she's done."_

_"And how are you going to do that?"_

_I hesitated. "Well, you'd have to tell your story."_

_"And who'd believe me?"_

_"Believe you?" I echoed. I believed her. What was not to believe? But I knew what she meant. There was no physical proof. There wouldn't be semen to test for. Was there any way to test for female stuff? Secretions? Probably, but that would mean telling, and Aimee's empty face told me that she wasn't going to do that. "So what do we do?" I asked, twisting her around and looking her full in the face._

_She met my eyes without tears, without regret, without pain. "What I've been trying to do all along. Die."_

_I think back._

_I think about Aimee's accident prone behavior. Everyone figured she was a klutz. After all, who could fall down a flight of stairs at school and crack their car up in the same month? No one thought it was odd that she would be driving with her leg in a cast. She was Aimee. No one questioned Aimee. Straight A's, good parents, good behavior (at least when at school), and kiss-up-to-the-teachers Aimee._

_I remember once, when she got in this huge fight with her dad, which she lost, she went into the bathroom and slammed the shower door on her arm over and over. Until it broke. Yeah. Broke. She told her father she fell in the shower. He was so stupid, he never noticed that she was dressed and her hair was dry when she walked out of the bathroom with her arm dangling._

_And the car accident? She was driving with a cast, but it was on her left leg and it didn't come above her knee. And the accident happened on this mostly straight road with only one curve, not even a forty-five degree curve, more like a fifteen-degree curve, that sweeps up and across an overpass by the highway. She was going at least fifty, the cops said, when she lost control and went off the road. I don't know how she survived it, but she was wearing a seat belt, so I guess that helped. And it always helps, if you're planning an accident and you want to survive, to remember to drive the car with air bags. The car she was not supposed to drive. Ever. Hers was the clunker from prehistory with no air bags and no four-wheel drive. Wonder why she drove the forbidden car that day? She said it was because she could get in and out easier with her cast. _

_Believe it or not._

_******_

I kept my hand on the shivering form curled up on the floor. I was afraid. Afraid that if I left her she would fall to pieces. She didn't move or flinch away from my touch but I knew she was weak. Weak and helpless. Scared. Of me and my family. Of me especially.

Another intense round of hysteria wracks her body, her cheek pressed into the carpet and her eyes squeezed shut. I watch her grip the threads of the carpet with angry fists, saw how the blue-green veins strained against the back of her hands.

"Shhh…" I mollify gently, laying a careful hand the side of her face. I feel the heat pulsing beneath the skin of her temple; I smooth back the curls of black velvet. Her crying had made her feverish and sweaty. Her heart beat fluttered like the blurring wings of a humming bird. "Deep breaths…" I murmur.

Gradually, her hysterics fell into quiet sobs.

Behind us even the fading sunlight seemed too weak to bear the sorrow of this little girl and quietly bowed below the horizon, giving twilight full ascendancy. Gray darkness crept over the land. Shadows fell and darkness came unhindered, bringing with it the icy claws of a growing winter storm. With vengeance, she flung a billion snowflakes towards the earth, smothering out the shimmering stars and leaving only furled clouds and the violet twilight gave away to complete darkness.

"Oh, Mercy," I breathe without thinking. It was more of a prayer than anything else—a small cry for help.

The chaotic events that had fallen seemed like a cruel twist of fate. She wasn't supposed to know. About us, I mean.

My mind continued to race through the events that had happened and what had lead up to them—it was like a bad movie being played over and over and over behind my closed eyelids. Over and over. I wonder: what could Alice have been thinking? Did she know that it was all going to lead up to this? Didn't she know? Didn't she see all this? I turn that thought over in my head, mulling, trying to find our mistakes and the point where we had messed up. We, I, was only trying to save a broken girl who seemed beyond repair. But I had to have hope.

There was always hope, wasn't there?

Mercy knew—she knew without even doubting—she knew what we were, as though she had already believed. In vampires, I mean.

Vampires.

She suddenly shudders, her breath catches, and she begins sitting up, her chest still heaving with the effort to breathe normally. She glares at me.

"I don't believe it," she spats at me but I hear the fear embedded in the words and I see the hurt and disappointment glimmering in her eyes. The dim light of the lamp created flickering shadows across her lovely, but sad face. The tears glistened on her cheeks and her exotic eyes watched me in distrust. And fear—always fear.

My words come out heavy, slow, tired. "I promise, I will not hurt you—you're safe with me."

No response.

"I promise."

Still nothing.

"I am a vampire," I hesitate, feeling that single word burning my insides as though I was on fire. "We all are."

She looks away then and she couldn't seem to hold back the sobs fighting to claw their way out. For a moment her shoulders quake and I wince. Her sobs weren't of fear or pain this time but carried the mournful sound of a fragile soul giving up and letting the darkness overwhelm every part of it.

I hated it. I knew she thought I was going to kill her.

She quiets again, her cries deflating out of her as if that was all she had left. Then she does something I do not expect. The fiery warmth of her finger tips touches my cheek. But only for a second then she drops her hand.

"Th-the cold skin—like marble…" she wasn't speaking to me but to herself. Her eyes flash.

"What about your eyes—why aren't they red?"

I start, going still momentarily. "How do you know about that?"

She doesn't answer. I didn't really expect one.

"You need not be afraid," my voice came raspy. "We're different. We don't hunt humans. Just animals."

Nothing. Again.

"Just animals," I repeat myself, nearly sounding foolish.

I watch her tears fall to the carpet. I reach to brush them from her face. She twists her head away from my touch.

"That's not what I'm worried about."

Her voice still came as a shock every time she spoke. Her silence seemed a prominent part of her that when a sound did emit, it was nearly strange. I blinked. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I don't care if you hunt animals," Mercy whispers, rubbing the back of her hand across her wet face. "Or humans for that matter."

I freeze in consternation. I didn't know what she was saying or what she was trying to say. "Then what do you care about?" I ask, crouching down and resting my arms on my knees.

Mercy drew her own knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as though she were trying to pull her already diminutive frame into an even more compact space. I knew she wasn't going to answer.

Then: "I trusted you."

Her tiny, pain-stricken voice strove deep within me like a red-hot lance and unnecessary guilt washes over me. We sit in dead silence, listening to the moan of the wind outside and the rustling of tree branches against the window pane. She refuses to look at me, keeping her eyes averted. She looked at the hands in her lap and I can see the tiny white ridges of healed scars overlapping each other on each palm. I guessed that those were from her digging her nails into her palms either out of stress or fear. Or maybe even both.

I wasn't sure.

"Mercy," I whisper. "You're not alone."

I didn't know why I was prompted to say this but it seemed to be the key for her to look up at me with wide eyes as though what I had just said was something foreign or unheard of. That thought made my gut wrench even more and I cleared my throat, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

She seemed to struggle with some inner turmoil for a moment and I watched her hands curl into fist at some unseen force. She was digging her nails into her skin.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to help me? What are you trying to prove?"  
"I'm not trying to prove anything." I counter cautiously. "Sometimes, when you see someone in need, you know you need to help them because who else do they have to turn to?"

"So this is all out of pity?" her voice was strained. "Just…pity?"

"No," my voice was more forceful than I had meant it to be.

"Than what? What is it?" she demanded. Her nails dig deeper.

I sigh. I knew she deserved the truth now. She already knew everything else. "It was because of Alice."

"Alice?" Mercy jerks in confusion.

"Alice…_felt_…that we had to help you."

Her face was blank.

"Some vampires have, well…" I felt it was nearly 'Bella' all over again and I realized the danger in telling her all this. That it might cost her life. But it was too late now.

And I regretted this immensely. Bella had wanted it. She had chosen it. I didn't know what Mercy had chosen. Not this, I could guess by the look on her face.

"Some vampires have extra abilities. I believe some of the abilities were amplified from when they were humans—"

Mercy claps her hands over her ears. "No!" she cut me short abruptly.

I stare at her in bewilderment, not understanding the sudden outburst. She had squeezed her eyes shut and had pressed her lips into a thin stubborn line.

"Mercy?"

"I don't want to know!" she answers, shaking her head violently several times.

I sit back on my haunches with a sigh. I wasn't getting anywhere with this. Then:

"Let me see your hands." I say softly.

I know she heard me for her pulse spiked loudly. But she didn't move.

I gently, careful to avoid her wounds, draw one hand from her ear to inspect it. She was trembling. Sure enough, little red lines had appeared, fresh cuts over the old scars. "You need to stop doing this."

Mercy glares at me again with such ferocity that it startles me. For such a little person, she was awfully brave at times.

_***Mercy_

He didn't walk away once the door was shut. I see his shadow under the doorway as he hesitates. A brief feeling of security touches my heart at the thought that he didn't want to leave me alone. But the feeling quickly vanishes.

He's a vampire. The monsters were all the same.

I back away from the door, my body still trembling from the adrenaline rush. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. But I couldn't get my mind to shut down.

How could I have been so stupid?

The cold skin, the odd colored eyes, the perfection and devastating beauty…I should have seen it earlier when I would've had the chance to run. Run away from this waking crypt where the dead never rest.

But now I was alone. A stranger in a strange land. Or house.

I was tired. I wanted to sleep but I also didn't want to let my guard down. Not that I would be able to defend myself against a house filled with vampires. But I would rather go down with a fight than to be taken while I slept.

I hated vampires.

I lower myself back down to the floor, feeling the thick carpet beneath me and the warmth of the heating vent a couple feet away. The matching sweatshirt that Alice had redressed me in sagged over my body. I carefully roll up one of the sleeves and stare at the multitude of stitches crisscrossing my arm. How ugly and disgusting they looked and I wonder how bad of scars they would leave behind. I wish I could see the gashes on my back.

I have a high tolerance for pain.

If I didn't, I probably would have lost my mind by know…that is if I haven't already lost it to the voices.

I stood again, contemplating my next move. The window was inaccessible and the door would most likely be locked or have somebody guarding it on the other side. I hated being locked up.

Then I make up my mind.

I see the pale, blue shirt lying on the floor by the lamp where I had hurled it earlier. I snatch it up and momentarily hold it to my face, inhaling its sweet scent. Then I switch off the light, leaving only the silver moonlight to guide me to the bed.

It was a large bed, high off the ground with a lavender coverlet and a thick white comforter. There were two large pillows, both matching the comforter and two small, dainty ones, the color of pale lavender and lined in white lace. And the frame was a dark mahogany, contrasting starkly with the light colors.

I didn't need any of it. With the tee-shirt in one hand, I scooted myself under the bed until I was completely covered by the frame.

I lay still in the darkness, my head resting on Carlisle's shirt.

"Aimee," I whisper with a swollen throat. A single tear slides down my cheek. "Look what we've gotten ourselves into."

Then I fell into a deep, deep sleep, with Aimee's face floating in my mind and the shirt's perfume lulling me like a lullaby.

_***Carlisle_

"That was a smart move, Jacob," Edward spoke in a condescending tone. He had his arms crossed over his chest and sat against the back of the couch with an annoyed look on his face.

Jacob sneered at him. "Lay off, vampy, I didn't know she was here. I was just trying to warn you guys."

"Thank you," I interrupted quietly. "I appreciate your consideration."

"So who is the girl anyway? Did Edward find himself someone else?"

Bella hissed, glaring at Jacob's towering form.

"It was just a joke." He held up his hands as if to stop her anger. Seth shoved his shoulder.

"The girl is not the concern right now. Right now, I need to know exactly what you saw." I directed the conversation away from Mercy. It was too complicated a situation at the moment.

Jacob looks at Sam who nods slightly.

"I'm not exactly sure but there were at least eight." Jacob narrows his eyes and clenches his fists. "They were running east as I said, going a direct path to you guys. I _think_ we might have startled them, but they vanished."

"Just eight?" Emmett flexed his muscles. "We could take them."

I held out my hand towards him to quiet. "Did you happen to know what some of them looked like?"

"Not really," he grimaces. "All I saw was that one of them was really, really small. Like a kid or something with short hair and a black robe."

Venom flooded my throat and I felt the hackles rise on the back on my neck. "_Jane_," I hissed through clenched teeth.

"The Volturi?" Bella springs to her feet, hands balled into fists. She shoots her eyes to Edward than Alice. All the werewolves tense at the name. Especially Jacob who knew remembered the stories that Bella had told him when she was human. "Why? What would they want?"

I hadn't a clue. We've kept up an inconspicuous existence and we've done nothing out of line.

"Carlisle," Esme murmurs behind me. Her hand touches my shoulder. "You wouldn't think it is because of Mercy? Would you?"

"Mercy?" Jacob echoes, his voice clueless.

"It would be impossible that they knew about her—she only found out we were vampires an hour ago." I shake my head, crossing my arms and spreading my feet out unconsciously. Being around so many humans every day had made a habit out of my ways to blend in. I had no need to shift my stance. I could've stood in the same position for hours without being bothered. But to humans, that would be completely unnatural.

Unnatural isn't the way to go, is it?

Esme nodded, seeming to accept my explanation.

"Who's Mercy?" Jacob looks to Bella, Esme, Alice, than me. "Is she that girl? Why do you have a human in your house?"

"Why not?" Bella challenged.

She had seemed a bit on the edge lately. I shoot her a calming look, willing her to sit again. I could tell that the werewolves were getting nervous. No matter how long we know each other, we were always natural enemies and ill at ease feeling would probably never go away. Except for Seth who seemed to have no problem at all.

"Jacob, that is not the issue here—stay focused." Sam stepped in front of Jacob, his calming demeanor making the La Push boys cease their fidgeting. A feeling of calm washes over me and I exchanged a meaningful look with Jasper. Sam looks at me with obsidian eyes. "We will have continuous rounds around our territory and yours if you will give us permission. We will let you know if anything goes amiss."

I dipped my head in gratitude. Though it was written by nature that we be enemies, our two groups countered that. It sent relief through me each time I thought of it, knowing that the world around us would be just that much more peaceful. "And we will do the same if you wish."

Sam shrugs. "If you feel the need, go for it."

"We could do tradeoffs," Edward suggests, looking at me for approval in which I nodded a swift nod in ascent. Working together would lighten the load for the werewolves, who unlike us, still needed to eat, sleep, and relax at times.

Esme seemed to read my thoughts. "And don't ever hesitate if you feel the need to seek rest here, or food because we'll always have food prepared if you wanted. Even clothes, if you wish. We always have plenty of that."

Alice grinned.

Sam nods in thought and looked at his comrades. "We'll be here if you need us." He says as the boys slip out.

"See ya, Carlisle," Seth grins at me. "Catch you later Bella. And Edward, you still owe me a race!"

He bounces out last.

"He's just a child, Carlisle," Esme whispers, her face sad.

"But a capable one, Esme," Edward answers. "Seth is smart, he won't let anything get the best of him."

"A race?" Bella raises an eyebrow at Edward who chuckled.

"Seth was dying to know if he was faster than me or not."

"Is he?"

"No—I'll always be the fastest."

Emmett snickered. "I think you're right about that, Edward…I _think_."

Bella rolls her eyes. "Moving on…"

I smile at their antics and wait till the werewolves were out of ear shot. Then I turned to Alice. "Have you seen anything about Mercy?"

Alice's face clouds over. "No," she replied grudgingly. "I've got nothing. Why?"

"Upstairs, when I was speaking to her, she asked me why I didn't red eyes."

Esme gasped. Alice's eyes widened.

"Well, then, that constitutes that she already knew about vampires. At least, the ones who hunt humans." Edward concluded. He spun on Esme. "Maybe you were getting on to something."

"See, Carlisle!" Rosalie had returned about twenty minutes ago and had remained silent until now. "An unneeded problem you've brought unto us. Now we have the Volturi stalking us!"

I turn away from her, narrowing my eyes at the night outside the window. "But when would she have come in contact with vampires and survived?"

"What would the Volturi want with a small, insignificant girl?" Edward added pointedly.

I bristle at his words but remind myself that he was right in a way. What was one, tiny human girl to a coven of the deadliest vampires in the entire world?

Alice lowers her head and whispers: "Maybe she's not so insignificant."

***_Mercy_

The golden rays of the sunlight pierced my eyelids and made me squint. I roll over and realize that I was still under the bed with the blue shirt splayed beneath me. I stretch my legs out and jump when I see a pair of black ballet-style shoes next to the bed. Then Alice's face appeared.

"How long were you planning to stay under there?" She asked brightly, her gold eyes glittering with happiness.

I shrink back, fixing my face into a mean glare. She was a _vampire_ as well.

But Alice only laughed. "Oh quit it," she takes me by the foot and slides me out before I had a chance to react. Her eyes narrow. "Look at you," she accuses. "You're a mess. Did you even think about putting pajamas on before going to sleep?"

I say nothing.

"Obviously it doesn't matter when you sleep under the bed."

I couldn't help but smile and that small gesture seemed to make her eyes glow even more.

"We'll worry about a shower later since Carlisle said it's not good to get your wounds wet constantly." And the next moment she was at the closet, moving so fast that I didn't catch the movement. It paralyzed me for a moment.

This time, like her Barbie doll that I was, she dressed me in black leggings and a pale lavender hoodie. She slipped a pair of black slippers on my feet with a tiny purple bow in the center of each one.

"I match my bed," I say without thinking.

Alice laughs and her voice shimmered and danced like chimes. "Come on," she grabs my hand and I flinch at its coldness but she didn't seem to notice. She skipped down the hallway with me in tow.

"We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz!" She sang in a high soprano voice as she pranced along, swinging our hands to and fro. Then she lets go of my hand and does a delicate twirl, spinning her way to the top of the staircase.

"Crazy, isn't she?"

A massive shadow suddenly encompassed mine. I freeze momentarily, shocked by the booming voice behind me. Taking a deep breath, I whirl around to see the vampire-gorilla wearing a wild grin on his face. He flexed his muscles several times for show, the look on his face more than slightly intimidating.

I take a step back, unsure of what to do. Fear sent my heart pounding against my ribcage.

Where was Alice?

"Impressive, aren't they?" His eyes brows lift on his face and his gin turns nearly menacing.

This time, I take several steps backward, stumbling as I hit what felt like to be a brick wall.

I gasp when I feel cold hands steadying.

I spin to see Carlisle standing directly behind me, a bag slung over one shoulder and clothed in mint-green medical scrubs. Without thinking through my options, I quickly turn to hide behind his towering form, peering around his elbow to glare at Emmett, who began to roar with laughter, his massive body shaking in his mirth.

Carlisle shakes his head to himself and eyes Emmett for a moment before raising his arm up to look around at me.

"Just ignore him." He tells me with a smile. "He's just a really big toddler."

"A really big, _scary, _toddler," I mutter, gripping his loose sleeve until my knuckles turn white.

He chuckles and offered his hand.

I look at it for a moment. This was a _vampire_. A monster that you were supposed to flee _from_ not flee _to_. I didn't care anymore. I release his shirt and take his icy hand and shivered, but I allowed him to lead me down the staircase where the smell of breakfast curled its tempting figures around my body.

"Esme's cooking today," he informed me once we reached the bottom step. Tempted by the wonderful smells wafting from the kitchen, I break away from his hand and walked towards the stove where a black pot sat with steam hissing out from under its lid.

I reach to remove the lid, curious to see its contents and what I would be eating.

"Stop!" Esme was suddenly there beside me. She caught my hand milliseconds before I touched the lid. "It's hot." She says.

"Oh," was all I said. I look around for Carlisle and saw him picking up a set of car keys.

Was he going somewhere? The hospital?

My heart breaks into a sprint than drops sickeningly. He was going to leave me here by myself with these…these…vampires?

Carlisle glances at me and I suddenly remember that vampires can hear your heart beat and I quickly look away, staring at the tiling, taking in several deep breaths.

I hated fear. It was like a monster all in its self. It takes it murderous claws and grips your heart and soul, refusing to let go until you slip over the edge. Because of fear, there is anger and pain and sorrow. Fear is where it all starts and fear seemed to be the end.

"Why don't you take her with you Carlisle?" Alice prances in, appearing literally out of know where and winks at me. I snap my head up in surprise. "I'm sure she'd love to get out, wouldn't you? And you said you were going to the Seattle hospital today. Think of all the shops and places you could go afterwards—some nice, _fresh_ air."

Carlisle looks at me; I look at him. My eyes were wide. Would he get angry for such a suggestion? Would he say no? Maybe I didn't even _want_ to go. Then he smiles.

"It doesn't matter to me," he says. "But you have to get a coat on—it snowed last night."

My heart leaped. Snow? I couldn't remember the last time I had seen snow. I close my eyes trying to picture the white beauty in my head but the only thing I see if four gray walls and a pair of red eyes.

I shiver and snap my eyes open. My muscles were trembling from being so tense.

"Got it covered!" Alice announced distracting me, as she produced a faded gray pea coat with lavender colored gloves and hat and boots and scarf.

I scrunch my eyebrows. It was kinda freaky how she did that.

By the time I was all bundled up, Esme had packed me a lunch and wrapped up my breakfast to eat in the car. She brushes my cheek with the sweetest smile I have ever seen and kisses my forehead—a jolt of shock hits me when she does that but she didn't seem to notice.

Carlisle gives me a warm smile and offers me his hand again. This time I don't hesitate but slip my hand into his cold one.

He opened the door and guided me out into the white rush of bone-chilling winter. Earth, sky, and everything in between lay in a frozen milky haze, embalmed under a thick layer of shimmering white filigree. I wanted to giggle in delight and I let go of Carlisle's hand to hurry down the snow covered steps and into the winter wonderland. I wanted to feel it under my feet and on my cheeks.

Tiny snowflakes danced through the brisk morning air. I stuck out my tongue to catch one, tilting my chin back and closing my eyes. Aimee and I used to do this—seeing who could catch the most. We'd tilt our heads back at the pearl gray and sky, open our mouths wide, giggling as we did so, and count aloud in garbled voices.

I open my eyes to try and catch one with my hands, cupping them and holding them out to see if I could gaze at its unique, intricate beauty. But they melted on contact and I was extremely disappointed.

Carlisle comes up beside me and shows me his ungloved hand. I gingerly take his fingers to pull his palm closer to my face; it was beautiful.

The snowflake didn't melt on his palm, like it had on mine, and was very quickly joined by a dozen others—each one different but equally magnificent.

I was startled out of reverie when I heard a shout and I look up wildly, looking for the source of the noise.

Bella was up in a tree, flinging snowballs at a blurred Edward. And I marveled at it for a moment, listening to Bella's joyful laughter as she dangled her feet in mid-air, hurling snowballs at nonexistent speeds but only a few seemed to make contact.

Suddenly, a snowball—if you could even call it that—the size of a wrecking ball came barreling through the air towards Bella's tree. The tree cracked than splintered. Teetering for only a few seconds it began to fall.

"TIMBERRR!" Emmett bellowed with the roar of a rabid bear as the tree landed in an explosion of white powder. Startled, I moved closer to Carlisle, hearing the crunch my boots made in the snow and wondered how Carlisle wasn't making a noise at all.

He led me to a sleek looking, black Mercedes and opened the passenger door. "Hurry," he said. "Before they get any wilder." He winks and I slide in, quickly buckling up. The next instant, Carlisle was in the car beside me, turning the keys to the ignition and revving the engine. I saw Emmett wave at me, his face nearly split in half with a beaming grin.

Hesitantly, I wave back as Carlisle pulled from the driveway. I turn in my seat to stare at the outrageously expensive mansion enclosed by white forest. It looked majestic—unfit for its surroundings. It belonged in a fairytale of some sort.

The driveway we drove down was winding and narrow, weaving through many trees and over a small bridge suspended over a frozen stream. It seemed so unreal.

Maybe today wouldn't be such a bad day after all.

If only the voices would just _go _away.

_***Carlisle_

The drive was uneventful—the twenty minutes it took to get to Seattle Hospital. Most of the time she stared out at the snowy world around us, captivated by the sight and I wondered when the last time she had seen snow before. I guessed it hadn't been for a long time.

When I pulled into the reserved parking space for staff, I saw her fall back against the seat, her face pale. I noted the rapid pace of her heart but I fought against the urge to place a hand on her forehead in case she had become feverish.

"Are you all right?" I ask, pulling the keys from the ignition and reaching for my pack behind the seat.

Mercy swallowed hard and nodded. "I don't really like hospitals." She stated, opening her passenger door and climbing out. I walked at a normal, human pace to her side than matched her small stride, burying my hands in my pockets to look as though I had been chilled by the winter air.

"Hospitals are there to help you," I counter in an act to extract information from her, watching her struggle through the deep snow drifts that the county hadn't scraped up yet. I offered a hand and she took it without hesitating, which surprised me. I let her use me as an anchor to pull herself out with each step.

"Not all hospitals," she murmurs, apparently not going to offer me any more details and she glowers at the hospital doors.

"You didn't have to come."

"I know."

I waited, but she says nothing else.

"Why didn't you stay with Esme then? Or Alice? They would've taken care of you." I pause than added: "Quite willingly, in fact."

She stumbles and falls forward but I quickly catch her, pulling her upright again.

"Thanks." She mutters, brushing snow off the front of her coat. We enter the automatic doors of the emergency room and Mercy stomps her feet on the matt to rid of snow. She lets go of my hand and pulls the hat off her head, leaving her curls in disarray, making her look more like a child.

I point her to the direction of my temporary office and shut the door behind us.

"It's big," was all she says, unbuttoning her coat and placing it on the coat rack.

I smile at her bluntness, making sure she didn't see me. I put on the lab coat, stethoscope and put a couple pens and tongue compressors in the front pocket.

"Did you want to come?" I ask as she moved slowly around the room, examining the paintings on the wall.

She looks at me and shakes her head.

I hesitate leaving her by herself.

"I won't runaway," she says.

I chuckled. "Well, if you need me, just use the phone over there and dial the extension 6 for the emergency room. Ask for me and they'll let me know as soon as possible."

She only nods and sits on the floor with a book in her lap. She doesn't even look at me.

Downstairs, the emergency room was moderately busy. I greeted the chief of emergency who was an older man, who looked as though he was more of a grandfather than anything.

"Who was that little girl with you when you first came in?" he asks, pocketing his pen and tucking his clipboard beneath his arm.

"My niece," I lied smoothly. "She's staying in my office while I work."

"She was as cute as a button." He chortled to himself. "Reminds me of my granddaughter when she was younger. She went off to war when she was eighteen, came back at twenty-eight then got married to this odd, strict fellow. They had a daughter but the poor dear died when she was fourteen. Never got to meet her."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say sympathetically. "What did her daughter die of?"

The old man paused as though thinking. "They were never sure. It was quite sudden in fact—right after her friend. Maybe it was stress or suicide. Never know—will we?"

I didn't answer. The man clears his throat. "It doesn't really matter what you do, just hop right in and grab a chart, I'm sure you're used to doing this kind of stuff."

And so I did and we remained busy for the remainder of the morning with odds and ends cases, nothing really too serious. The most dramatic patient was a little boy who came in throwing up worms in a serious case of parasites.

By one o'clock I was heading up to my office for break, quickly leaving behind the noises and smells of the ER.

I opened the door to my office and find Mercy spinning in circles at my desk chair, using the desk corner to push herself to go faster. I smiled and walked over to the front of the desk.

"You're going to make yourself sick doing to that," I chided gently and she stopped, her heart racing and her eyes slightly crossed. She smiled a genuine smile which momentarily takes me by surprise. I hadn't seen her smile yet and for a brief moment the exotic etchings in the midnight blue of her eyes look like silver moonlight dancing upon the surface of a still lake and not like the shattered glass of before. But it was only brief as her soul withdrew back within her.

"Did you have fun?" she asked me, getting up and wobbling her way towards me as her equilibrium struggled to right itself. I caught her as she stumbled into me and held her steady.

"You could say that." I answer back with a soft laugh. "Actually, I wanted to look at your stitches."

Her face grows somber.

"I'll put numbing cream on it," I promised, guiding her back to my desk. I lifted her up and placed her on the desk, taking my seat beside her. Carefully, being as gentle as I could, I pull the sleeve up over her arm, holding back the grimace and keeping my face smooth. "These look a lot better," I told her in assurance. I open a drawer up and pull out a stitch kit. I saw her tense in my peripheral vision. "I'll be fast."

She watches my work quietly. She didn't look away once nor did she flinch again and I realized how much immunity she seemed to have for pain. She breaks the silence with her quiet voice.

"Did anyone die today?" she asked, her voice serious.

I pause, taken aback by the question than resumed cutting out the stitches.

"No," I answered. "Everyone that has come in today so far has had no serious ailment."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering." She says this than presses her index finger to my arm as though she was feeling for the iciness of my skin or trying to convince herself that I really was a vampire. "You're a contradiction." She said.

I laugh. "Why do you say that?"  
"You're a vampire—you're supposed to hurting people, killing people—not helping them. Yet here you are—this doctor everyone looks up to."

I didn't look up as I answered her. "I suppose you're right. I'm not exactly the stereotype."

She shifts in her spot as though she was suddenly uncomfortable. "I wouldn't exactly say stereotype—just a rule of nature. Like how a lion will always kill to eat and a deer will always eat the grass that comes from the decomposition of the lion."

"Touché," I mutter, starting on her other arm. I spoke: "I never wanted to be a monster—I didn't want to be the killer of a billion of innocent lives—who was I to decide who should die and who shouldn't?" I finish within minutes and lay back in my chair, studying her. "You're awfully brave to say that being a vampire is a rule of nature. Do you think, that since I'm a vampire, I have the right to kill you?"

Mercy lowers her head and looks at her hands, curling them into fists. "A vampire wouldn't kill me, anyways."

I let out laugh without humor. "Why would you say that?"

I suddenly realized that I had treaded forbidden territory. Mercy didn't answer except for tightening her fists. But I couldn't stop now. I lean in, placing my hand on her knee, forcing her to look at me.

"Mercy," I speak softly, tenderly, not wanting to frighten her. "Have you ever met a vampire before you came to my house?"

Silence. But that was all I needed. She could have screamed yes but I would have gotten that same gut wrenching feeling in my stomach. I didn't need to breathe, but I was suddenly breathing heavily. I lower my voice even more, not even thinking of whether she could hear me or not.

"Mercy—did these vampires that you met…did they go by the name of the Volturi?" I felt as though I had just spat out a cuss word, which I could have judging by Mercy's reaction.

She snaps her head up, terror in her eyes, her face bone white. She began breathing fast.

I felt sick but I tried to keep my reaction to myself. Why are earth did Alice insist on bringing her out here? Why?

Suddenly, my cell phone let out a shrill ring and I nearly ripped it out of my pocket. Alice. Speak of the devil.

"Hello?"

"Carlisle, you need to get out of there right now!" Alice demanded. "Preferably before ten minutes is up."

"I'm way ahead of you Alice," I snapped the phone shut and lifted Mercy from the desk without even asking. "I need you pretend like you're sick."

"Why?" she asked, chest heaving, squirming in my arms. "Are they coming for me? Are they?"

"Just do as I say, Mercy."

As fast as a strike of lightening I had bundled her back up and she cooperated like a rag doll would have. She was going into shock and I wasn't helping any.

I lift her into my arms, and push open the door.

"I have to go," I almost shout at the clerk. "My niece has the flu…I have to get her home."

The young woman stared at Mercy in my arms, eyes closed, face pale and breathing fast.

I didn't wait for her response but continued on out. It took extreme effort on my part to keep at a human pace. People stared as I walked by but I just ignored them, strapping Mercy into the passenger seat of the car and jogging to my side.

I peel out of the parking space and speed my way to the cities limits.

Mercy was panicking. I could see it in her face as she clutched her seat belt strap. I could hear the wild thumping of her heart and the fast breathing. Her face kept growing whiter and perspiration beaded her face.

"You have to calm down, Mercy." I tell her, the trees whipping by so fast that they resembled a brick wall. The snow whizzed past as well in a whirlwind affect. "Take deep breaths, for me alright. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

"This is my fault!" she cries despite of what I just said. "I thought all vampires knew!"  
"Knew what?" I demand, my voice coming out in a rush of words. "What was I supposed to know? What would they want with a little girl like you?"

She only moans, burying her face in her hands. I resisted the urge to bang the steering wheel.

Esme was dead-on right.

_***Mercy_

Nausea rushes through me in a violent tidal wave. What have I done? I shouldn't have run away in the first place! I should've accepted the fact of my destiny like a smart person would have done.

And now they were going to kill me. Me and all the Cullens for protecting me. No one had ever protected me before. I didn't expect anyone to start now. And now look what I've done!

_You could stop them, you know._

They came without warning. I jolt in the seat, head throbbing, my vision blurring. They came strong this time, with a vengeance that seemed to grab my spinal cord and yank me back.

_They come for you in fear. They know what you could do if you were a vampire. They want you._

"They can't have me!" I scream aloud without thinking and Carlisle jerks beside me.

"Who?" he asks in what sounded like nearly panic. His frustration was showing through the calm demeanor. It was me who did this.

The throb in my head increases.

_You could stop them._

I could. I could stop them. But I was afraid.

There was a multitude in my head now, pounding, pounding. I start to cry, gripping my head, trying to push back the pain but knowing that I never would. My vision grows white and blurred at the edges.

Carlisle sees this though. "No," he says. "Mercy you have to stay with me. I can't have you unconscious. Put your head between your knees and breath deep and even. You're alright. You're safe. I won't let anything hurt you."

But he didn't know who I was, what I had done, what I was capable of.

This was my nightmare and now he was going through it. That just didn't seem right.

I feel my eyes roll back as darkness takes me and my head lolls forward and I sag against the seat belt.

This is all your fault, Aimee.

***

"Is she breathing?"

"Or course she's breathing, you idiot, can't you hear it? You are a _vampire_."

Vampire.

"Everyone just give her some space," another voices demands. Edward, I think. I suddenly feel a cool hand, like ice touch my cheek.

I try to open my eyes but they were a hundred pounds each.

"Do you know when she'll wake up, Alice?"

"No," said an angry, confused voice that sounded like it was on the brink of tears. But vampires didn't cry. "Her future's so jumbled up, it's hurting my head."

"Where's Carlisle? Why is he taking so long?"

"She's so still, I hope she's all right, poor thing."

"I still think it's kinda cool that she's a convict—by the Volturi, nonetheless."

"Emmett, have you ever tried thinking before you speak?"

"That doesn't really work because Edward can still hear it."

"But it saves the rest of us from suffering from his stupidity."

"Lay off."

"Is the only thing you guys ever do is argue? Seriously, you act like you were raised by wolves."

"Ironic, isn't it?"

"That is enough," a voice of authority broke through the babble. Everyone shushed. Suddenly, a potent smell hit my nose, causing me to flinch and jerk. I snap my eyes open to see eight pairs of golden eyes staring down at me. But the pair I looked for was Carlisle's.

He crouched directly over me, his face worried. But he smiles down at me and helps me into a sitting position.

The tears come fast and without even thinking through my actions, I collapse into the doctor's arms, burying my face in his stone chest, trying to hide from the rest of the world, wanting it all to just melt away.

His arms enclosed me, holding me to him and I feel another hand lay gently on my back. Probably Esme.

We sat like that for a long time, well it was long to me. For the first time in a long time I felt safe and secure. I think of my father. When I was a little kid, no more than six, he used to come to into my room at nights when I would have nightmares and hold me like this until memories of the dream faded, softly crooning in my ear, rocking me back and forth, holding me protectively to his chest as though he dared the world to come and hurt me.

He would never let anyone hurt me. That is, until Aimee died. Then he didn't care.

And now, the nightmares were real and the memories were never going to fade and I wasn't ever going to be able to just wake up and run for daddy. Because daddy wasn't ever there anymore.

Finally, Carlisle draws me away, holding me by the shoulders. His golden eyes force me to look at him even though I wanted to look away.

"Mercy, I need you to tell me why the Volturi are coming for you. I can't really help you until I know for sure."

I knew this question was coming and I knew I couldn't avoid it any longer.

I wipe the back of my hand across my cheeks and look at the vampire family around me. "It's a long story." I whisper, shivering.

Carlisle brushes the hair from my face. "We've got time."

I look at him, at the compassion on his face and take a deep, deep breath.

"It started with this girl named Aimee…"

_I have everything to loose_

_By not getting up to fight_

_I might get used to giving up_

_So I am showing up tonight_

_I am my own enemy_

_The battle fought within my mind_

_I f I can overcome step one_

_I can face the ninety-nine_


	7. Chapter 7

_Do I have to bleed_

_For you to see me?_

_Do I have to scream_

_For you to hear me?_

_Cause I grieve: you're not listening to me_

_Do I need to scream?_

On that night, the night I had wanted Aimee to sleep over but my mom refused because it was a school night, I sneaked out of the house at ten. My parents were stuck in their own ruts: snoozing in front of the television after coming home cranky and exhausted from his conference (Dad), and buried in the office studying some new legal twist a case threatened to take (Mom). I left my lights off, figuring that y the time they went by my room—they never came into it—they'd think I was asleep. I wouldn't be expected to show my face until the next morning around seven, seven fifteen if I was running behind.

This was the last night we needed to stand guard, because Aimee's dad had called to say he was returning the next day, Friday. We, as a group, were going to talk to him then.

I called Aimee before sneaking out so she wouldn't be surprised when I showed up. That's how I found out Aimee's stepmother had canceled her Bible study group to "be with" Aimee that night. But her stepmother was gone by the time I arrived. She'd gone to meet Aimee's dad. Aimee was waiting for me in a long blue gown that fell almost to her toes. "My latest gift from the bitch." She twirled, and the dress fluted out around her thin claves, showing sneakers beneath. She saw me looking at them and said, "Didn't get any new shoes with it, though. Can't be too generous, can we?" She hiccupped.

"What's it for, and did you drink a lot of liquor?" I asked, moving past her to the kitchen. Every bottle in the house was sitting on the table, arranged by size and color, not type. I picked up the gin and rum, trying to judge how much she'd drank.

"Homecoming, and you found it." She pulled a cigarette out of her purse.

"Is this your parents' liquor?"

"Hell no! I called the store and had it delivered." She chuckled as I rolled my eyes in disbelief.

"You don't need to live it up. You need to sleep." I chided her. I poured myself a cranberry juice.

Her thin face was watchful. "I don't need sleep. I need to have some fun. Maybe fuck around, but you're the wrong sex for that." She lurched toward the phone. "I should call—"

I grabbed the phone from her hand. "No one else it coming."

"Chad," she said, her voice losing some of its slur. "He's always good for a fuck."

"Cut it out." Her language alone told me she was in a strange mood, and nothing else she was doing made me think otherwise. She'd twirl one moment, watching the crushed velvet ruffle and swirl, then she'd collapse on a chair and stare sullenly into a bottle before unending it. All the bottles were missing their caps, and she drank from whichever bottle was closest.

"Why should I cut it out?" She said, drinking from a nearby empty bottle of schnapps. "Who's going to make me? If you won't have him, he's got to find someone else. Doesn't he? Don't we all? Miss Pure? Huh?" Despite her steady pouring of alcohol down her throat, there was no trace of a slur in her voice now. Hard-edged, it slashed me. Even though I knew she was lashing out, trying to hurt someone else like she'd been hurt, I couldn't stop the anger rising in me.

"I said—"

"I said," she mocked, swaying and waving her hand at me. She looked so grand in the dress, so in charge, until I looked closely and saw that she had two different colors of eye makeup on, green on her left lid, brown on her right.

"Cut it out."

"Cut it out." She stopped and turned to the window. "I don't think I can cut it out." She pushed her sleeves back to her el bows and eyed her think wrists. She prodded her skin as if she were looking for an opening.

She had such tiny bones, such white skin.

I grabbed her arm. "Aimee! Stop talking like this. It's not right. You have a lot to live for."

"Name something."

"I'm going to call your mother." I picked up the phone and shook it at her.

"Which one? The one who left me on her husband's altar, or the one who met me there? I already tried calling the former, but she's out. More than likely with steady boyfriend number seventeen. They probably went to boob-and-ass show in Las Vegas, which means she'll be out late. I left a message. She'll call me in the morning, if she's home by then."

"She will," I said, but Aimee barreled on.

"And mother number two, the one we all know, love, and cherish, has gone to meet her delinquent husband and convince him that he's crazy, that there's no one else, and that she loves only him. He called right after the gift part of the evening was over, but before I could express my thanks. I still owe her my thanks." Aimee sat down with a thump. Her chair tilted, but she didn't fall. "He's been in Maryland the whole time, visiting some college buddy and lying low, waiting for her to miss him."

"Did you talk to him?'

"Oh yeah, but he didn't invite me down like he did obedient child number two. My brother went with her. Instead, dear old Dad asked me about school and dating. I told him I was fucking Chad, and the bitch took the phone away."

I felt my stomach boil. Was she serious about Chad? Her face was blank, oddly out of her sync with her uneven makeup, but she kept on talking, I couldn't ask her about Chad. I couldn't ask her about Chad. I couldn't ask her about anything. She wasn't listening. Not to me.

"So I went upstairs," Aimee continued, "and got on the phone in their bedroom. I told him about my cat dying, and he said that's too bad, but at least se went peacefully. He might as well have said, 'Oh good, now your stepmother doesn't have to take allergy shots anymore,' which is what he was thinking. I'm sure. She probably slipped the cat something to kill it because she was tired of sneezing and being poked in the arm."

She drew a breath, and I jumped in. "When are they coming back?"

"Hopefully never. None of them should come back. They should all die in an accident, and then I'd be free of the bunch of them. Assholes one and all."

"Aimee!"

"No one to say what a pain in the ass I am, no one to say what a liar I am, no one to whisper how beautiful I am at two o'clock in the morning. Won't it be lonely?" she looked up at me and her eyes were open so wide the eye shadow disappeared. Then they squinted, and a bark came out of her mouth. I think she was laughing.

"Sounds like it," I said, crouching next to her. "But you'll have us. Chad, Kates, Jason, Kyle, and me. You won't be lonely. You aren't alone."

"Yes, I am. Yes, I will be lonely tonight," she sang softly.

I took her arm and guided her toward the steps. I had already lifted the skirt of her dress so she wouldn't trip. "No you won't," I said. "I'm here."

"Don't you want to know who I'm going to homecoming with?" she said, sinking to the steps. She leaned forward with her hands between her knees, and for a second, I thought she was going to puke, but she didn't. Her head lifted as if someone had pulled it up by her hair. "Don't you? Don't you want to know?"

I bit my lip, trying not to be drawn into her game. Aimee wasn't normally mean when she drank, but she must have drunk a lot before I arrived.

"Chad, sweeties. I'm going with your Chad," Aimee said. "Called and asked him tonight. Yup. Called and asked him. Figured it's never too soon to find a date for Homecoming. I thought I should act fast, before someone else snapped him up." She leaned against me, one arm draped over my shoulders, the other clinging to the banister as I struggled to get back on her feet. "Should've claimed him when I told you he was your for the taking." She laughed again, tugged her skirt free of my hands, and darted up the rest of the stairs.

When I'm ninety, I don't think I'll feel older than I didn't that night, dragging myself up the stairs to her room, wanting to leave, but knowing she needed me. Knowing she was lying, but doubting at the same time. She had asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance. She went to his house all the time. Chad had known all about the abuse when I hadn't pieced it together. What if she wasn't lying?

She was lying sideways on her bed, her dress wadded up beneath her so that most of her legs stuck out. I sat next to her and slide her zipper down.

"Boy, is this familiar," she said without raising her head off the comforter.

"You have to undress so you can sleep. You'll ruin the dress otherwise."

"What do I care? I can weasel another lousy dress out of her."

"You should try to shower, try to sober up, then sleep. Take off the dress. I'm going downstairs to make coffee. Good and strong." I didn't add that I needed it.

From downstairs, I heard the shower running. I dumped my drink down the drain. I didn't think it was ever a good idea to drink alcohol and Aimee had accepted that before. The rest of the liquor I stuck hodgepodge in the closet where her parents kept it.

Later they'd find my finger prints all over the bottles and say that it was me who started Aimee drinking.

The coffee pot was ready to brew, as though someone had set it up and then forgotten to turn the timer on. I plugged it back in and switched it on. I washed my face at the kitchen sink, dried it on a dish towel, and stared at myself in the black glass of the window above the sink. I felt drained, washed up, and unable to cope, and I'd been there less than an hour.

Maybe Aimee would fall asleep from the liquor. Maybe she'd pass out on the bathroom floor, bang her head, and need stitches. I could call an ambulance, check her into the hospital, and say she was an alcoholic. They'd have to keep her for the rest of the night at least, and I'd be free of any responsibility for whatever else she did, said, or made happen.

But when I went upstairs with the pot of coffee, I found her dressed in her pajamas, sitting on her bed in a scrunched over ball, rocking back and forth, and crying. I set the mugs of coffee on the desk.

"I'm such a bitch," she moaned into her hands.

"Don't I know it," I said. I lifted her head with one hand. "Here, drink this. You'll feel better."

"I'll throw it up."

"Drink it."

She took a mouthful, then pretended to gag and puke.

"Are you done yet?"

Aimee unwadded herself, turned, then swung her legs up under her. "You're not much fun tonight, are you?"

"Neither are you." I sipped the coffee, not taking my eyes from her white face. Now that she had showered away all traces of makeup, she looked awful.

"Maybe that's why Chad doesn't go for you. You're no fun. What happened to your drink?"

"I want coffee," I said, focusing only on the last part of her comment.

"You should drink more. People would like you better."

"Like Chad, I suppose?" I closed my eyes, sighed, and turned away. I balanced my cup on my knees. I'd fallen for her game.

"Maybe," she said, warming her hands on her cup. "Maybe it's too late for that."

I didn't have the energy for this, not tonight, not ever. I took her cup away, and she let go of it like a tired child. Then I leaned her back on the bed none too gently, pulled the spread off the other bed, and covered her up. "Sleep," I said. I turned off the light and lay down on the empty bed.

"Yes, Mommie," she said to the darkness. Her breathing slowed, then became inaudible. She fell asleep.

I finished my coffee, then used the restroom. When I came back to her room, she had rolled over and was facing away from me. I climbed under the covers of my bed and allowed myself to sleep.

I woke to see Aimee creeping back into the room. The front of her pajama top was wet, as if she had spilled water on herself while washing her face, or maybe she had tried to clean some puke off her. Which was possible, giving her drunken condition earlier. I sat up and watched her walk. She was steady, not tripping or banging into anything.

She saw me sit up and sank onto her bed. "I'm scared," she said, like a child who's woken from a vague but frightening dream. "I'm scared," she repeated.

I struggled out from under my tangled sheets and blankets and sat next to her. "I'm here." I had woken to the memory that she'd been ticking me off before she fell asleep, and I wasn't sure why. I did know, looking at her in the light from the streetlamp outside, that I didn't want her to be in pain anymore. She was big-eyed, quiet, almost stunned, but underneath there lurked something that made me uneasy. I put my arm around her and pulled her against me. "Everything will be fine," I said.

And I thought I was right. She looked like my old friend, not like the stranger she had been earlier.

"I know," she whispered. "I'm glad you're here." She rested her head on my shoulder. She didn't smell of puke, so I guessed the water came from her trying to bring down the swelling and redness in her eyes. She wasn't crying at least. "I'm sorry I'm such a bitch, and I don't—" She stopped.

"I don't what?" I asked, cringing as she cussed. My Jewish upbringing was to blame for that.

She yawned and said, "I don't think I could have come this far without you as my friend. Will you stay with me tonight? One last time?"

"What a weird thing to say, one last time. Of course I'll stay. Tonight and any night you need me. But why should this be the last time?" Something inside me jerked awake, something I had let sleep or maybe was hiding beneath my anger. Warning lights, sirens, bells, everything started clambering in my jittery mind.

Before I was concerned about Aimee. Now I was terrified for her. "What do you mean, Aimee? One last time?" My hands shook as I twisted her shoulders so that she faced me.

She looked blank, unaware of what she had said.

"What do you mean?" I asked again.

"I need it to end, and I can't. Not without your help. Not without you here. It's so dark and scary doing it alone."

I grabbed her wrists, then dragged her to the desk. She hadn't cried out, and neither wrist felt wet or sticky, so I didn't think she had slashed them, but I had to be sure. The light blinded me as I clicked on the desk lamp, but immediately I could see there was no blood, no gaping wound. So this was still just talk.

"No, Aimee. Not that. I can't do that. You're my best friend." I closed my arms around her. "I can't live without you. I'll help you live, not here, if that's what you want. I'll support you any way I can, tell them I've seen her come for you, tell them I've seen her beat you, tell everyone about what happened until they believe it, but I need you alive. We all do. Chad—"

She snorted. The light had made her blink, but if anything she seemed more groggy than before. "I'm not your best friend. Chad's your best friend. And don't kid yourself. Remember scary problem number fifty-nine? Overpopulation results in worldwide famine and epidemics. We either (a) survive, or (b) die." She yawned again and leaned against me, heavier this time.

I stroked her hair, although I wanted to yank it out by the roots I was so mad at her for twisting everything.

"You're good at that," she continued. "Surviving. Not me. But you know, I can't do it alone. Just can't. So you'll have to stay. Please stay."  
"Aimee, I can't take this. Snap out of it. Your dad will be home tomorrow, and we're going to tell him, we will. We'll support you one hundred percent."

"Then support me how I want you to support me. I can't do it your way. Hell, I can't do it at all. I'm tired. Tired of everything. And none of this—" She waved an arm at her room, but her hand flopped on the end of her arm like a dying fish.

I shivered watching her.

"I have to sleep. But you have to stay with me so I can do this," she murmured.

"Aimee, I will not help you. You have to fight, darn it. You have so much going for you. You just wait. Things will look brighter in the morning. You'll come home with me. I don't care what my mother says, and you'll see, things will be better. Heck, you might even meet Mr. Right." I glanced at her, knowing that I sounded like an idiot, like someone offering comfort without meaning any of it. But I meant all of it. Things would get better. They had to.

"I just want to sleep. Guys are pains in the asses. I'm going to lie down." She didn't say anything about Chad, but I wasn't sure whom she was referring to. I needed to be sure she wasn't talking about him. I was obsessing and hating myself for it.

"All guys? Even Jason, Kyle, and Chad? Aren't some guys worth it?"  
"Nothing is worth it anymore. Let me sleep. You have to stay, though. Have to stay. Help me do this, okay? And everything will be alright."

"No, I will not help you kill yourself." I still didn't, at that point, have much a clue about what exactly she was talking about. Did she mean help her slice her wrists? Hold her hand while she did? Watch her die?

I remembered the razor blade I had taken from her. I didn't want to spend the rest of the night staring into the darkness, making sure she didn't sneak off to find another to use. I'd check the bathrooms for razors now. "I'm going to the bathroom to pee. Pull yourself together, Aimee," I said as I stood up.

"Bring me the bottle on the sink," she muttered without raising her head. "I want to take something."

My mouth went dry. Drier than when I had found the razor in her hand and saw her pretending to cut. Drier than when she had asked me to help her die. Then I felt nausea sweep over me, and the salvia ran wild in my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed again, edging toward the door, trying not to hurry. Trying to see her and leave the room at the same time. "What bottle?" I called, with my foot out the door, my body ready to bolt for the bathroom.

"Bottle on the sink. Very important. Stupid stepmother should never leave sleeping pills out with kids in the house. Never. Never. Never. How many times will they replace her lost pills?" Aimee started to laugh, a deep gagging laugh. She coughed, sat up for a moment, then rolled back onto the bed.

I raced for the bathroom. I didn't walk into or stop in any other rooms. I told the police that. I told the court that. I wasted no time trying to discover what she was talking about, but even then, I thought I just need to hide the bottle, that she hadn't taken anything or done anything. She needed me there to do it. She said so herself. What else could she mean by "Stay with me tonight? Help me die?"

On the floor of the bathroom were a billion pieces of glass. Since she had left the smaller bathroom light on, I managed to see it before I stepped on it. My hands sprang out from my sides and grabbed the door frame, halting me midstep. I stood panting and stared.

The mirror over the sink had been shattered. I saw my eyes, wide and startled, in a dozen places when I bent down. My nose, big and little, my hair, and my cheeks fragmented as I swung my head from side to side in disbelief. The noise of Aimee breaking the mirror should have woken me, and maybe it had. But then, why didn't I remember anything before she crept back into the room? I racked my brains, trying to figure out when she had done this. How she had done this. Her feet hadn't been cut, so she hadn't walked in the bathroom. Then I saw that mixed with the mirror's shards were pieces of the drinking glass that usually stood on the sink. She must have thrown it at the mirror.

I also saw fragments of what appeared to be one of the family photo albums. Judging from the little I could piece together of the pictures, it was her father and stepmother's wedding album. Every picture of her stepmother had been cut into tiny fragments. The picture of Aimee's dad and brother were mostly intact.

There were no remains of Aimee anywhere.

But the bottle was there. A little brown plastic bottle, the kind that holds antibiotics. I strained forward, so tense everything shook, but I couldn't reach it.

With my body wrenched sideways to close it, I tried to shut the toilet lid so I could stand on it and grab the bottle. When I looked down, I froze. Inside the toilet bowl floated three or four slashed versions of Aimee. All had been carefully cut from a larger picture, and all had been sliced into ribbons. I reached into the water and pulled out one of the mutilated pictures.

I was almost unaware of my tears as I picked up the bottle. There was no rattle of pills, no weight to the bottle at all, and the prescription had been soaked in water or something so that I couldn't read it.

"Aimee!"  
I felt devoid of hope.

"Aimee!" I screamed again, feeling as though my limbs were being pulled in opposite directions like a puppet in a warped play.

I thought of all the things she had said earlier that had infuriated me, and I wondered if it was part of her plan, to make me so angry I wouldn't pay attention to what she was doing.

Whether that was true of not, she had already carried out the other part of her plan.

She had taken the pills.

My head cleared in a spasm of guilt. Here I was standing and staring at broken glass trying to figure out if she had lied about her and Chad.

I need to get to Aimee. I needed to get help.

Panic overwhelmed me, and I lunged for the door, landing on a shard of glass. I stopped to pull it out, with blood seeping across my fingers and down the insides of my hands. But I didn't stop to bandage the gash in my foot. I didn't wince or hobble when I ran. That would have taken time, and I had none.

"Aimee!"

She wasn't answering.

"Aimee!" I shrieked from the door of her room. I held up the bottle for her to see but, of course, she didn't see it.

She was lying face down on the bed, an arm sprawled above her. Her back rose, fell, rose, fell, but slowly, too slowly.

I rolled her over and came face to face with despair. A long slug trail of vomit slithered down the side of the bed. I had planned on making her throw up, but she already had. It was the only thing I knew to do that would slow things down and get some of the drugs out of her system.

No pills were visible in the slime. How long did it take to digest them? Could all of the poison be in her system already? Had she chewed them to get them into her body faster?

"Oh God! Oh God!" I cried, my hands dancing through the air.

"Aimee," I said louder, closer to her ear.

She didn't respond.

I pulled her mouth open to shove my finger down her throat, thinking maybe she hadn't thrown up enough. If she did it again, maybe the pills would come up. "Try again! Throw them up! Come one, Aimee! You've got to be okay." I pushed her up, and she slumped forward.

There was blood on the bed, and I searched her body for the wounds, then the room to wrap whatever was bleeding on her. It was then that I saw my trial of bloody footprints on the floor and realized the blood on the bed was mine.

Then I saw the phone.

I lowered Aimee back onto the bed and jumped for the phone. Aimee groaned, and I turned back to her, grabbing her shoulder, slapping her face lightly, trying to get a response. "How much of this stuff did you take? Answer me! Answer me!"

But she didn't. She couldn't.

She didn't groan again.

The phone. I picked it up, tried to dial, but somewhere in the house Aimee had left a phone off the hook.

"Idiot!" I screamed. "Why did you do this?" I was hobbling and crying, snot ran down my face. I raced from room to room.

I did, too. Whatever the police said and her parents' attorneys say, I did check everywhere I could think of for the disengaged phone. I didn't save her, but I did that. My bloody footprints were everywhere in the house. Everywhere. Not because I freaked out and was chasing Aimee to make her take pills. Which some idiotic newspaper reporter said I did. Was he there, or was I? I was checking for a phone that worked. I even crawled under the tables and beneath beds to make sure the phones I found were plugged in.

And all the phones were on the hook. Except the portable. Which I couldn't find.

The clock said four A.M. Maybe some insane commuter would be up or I could wake one up. I opened the front door to an empty street as if to run out, but then I turned back. I couldn't leave her alone.

This is where I failed. Here was where I made the wrong choice, did the wrong thing. I should have kept going, but I wasn't thinking. I was reacting, and what I reacted to right then was leaving Aimee alone when she had begged me not to and explaining to everyone later that she died alone.

I would check on Aimee first. I had to see if there was anything else I could do, should do before I abandoned her to find help.

So I spun around and slammed the door. I flew back up the stairs, three at a time—according to the report and the footprint analysis. I was planning on making her drink something before I left. Anything. Coffee. Her full mug was still on the desk. I'd force some down in her to counteract with the pills, but who was I kidding? A cup of coffee against a bottle of sleeping pills?

I raised her head, tried to support her with my shoulder while I cradled her from behind. I opened her jaw with one hand and dumped coffee through her lips with the other.

Her throat didn't respond to the cold coffee dribbling through her pried open lips. She didn't swallow.

I tried to make her vomit again. That's when her bladder let go.

Later, in court, I learned that this is a normal part of death when someone takes sleeping pills. At the time, I was horrified, disgusted, and positive this was not a good sign.

I hugged her, with a finger on her pulse, trying to be sure she was still alive, thinking I'd do mouth-to-mouth until I found the phone, not even understanding that I couldn't do both.

When her bowls released, I knew I was done for. I wouldn't have my best friend anymore. I was screaming, shrieking, moaning. Keening might be the right word for what I was doing, but I don't remember exactly.

Aimee's window was open partway. It always was, and I thought someone would hear me. Some jogger, somebody walking a dog. I couldn't see the clock. Couldn't let go of Aimee. She was gurgling now, and I thought I should lay her down. So I draped her unmoving body, heavy in its stillness, across my legs, where it weighed me down and put my legs to sleep.

My screams weren't even making Aimee twitch.

I had forgotten all about escaping out the front door, running away to find someone else to take care of this mess. Someone who knew better what to do. All I knew, lying there listening to her labored, slowing, ending breathing, was that I was losing the dearest thing in my life, and there was nothing I could do.

Nothing would stop it. Even if I managed to find help now, looking at her bluing lips, I, who had never seen death, knew she was beyond help.

"Help me! Oh, God! Don't do this. Don't take her. Chad? Kyle? Jason? Kates? Where is everyone? Why doesn't anyone come? Why is this happening? I hate you, Aimee! I hate you!"

I screamed on and on, and eventually, when Aimee's eyes were fixed and dilated, when she was cold and blue and filthy and beginning to stiffen up in my arms, someone heard.

There was a pounding at the door, but I would have had to let go of Aimee to let them in. And I couldn't.

I just kept screaming, incoherent rages against God, the country, and everyone in between.

The pounding stopped, and shouts rose up from the ground below the window, and all I could do was moan, "She's dead. She's dead. Aimee's dead," in a hoarse whisper that was grotesque in itself.

Then a car pulled in, and car doors slammed.

I figured it would be the police, and they would help me. They would take Aimee away and take me home. They would call her parents. Then I could get a pill of my own that would take away the sight of Aimee's twisted legs wrapped around mine and the smell of crap and urine mixed with vomit and coffee, maybe the police would do something about my foot, which throbbed and still bled a puddle on the yellow spread like an ever-growing, ever blooming flower.

I quit screaming, I quit moaning, I waited, watching the flower spread and grow, my eyes glazed over. I slipped away. I stopped thinking, stopped reacting like a human being. I became still, cold, dead inside.

I still feel that way most of the time.

Sometimes, though, I feel opposite, filled with a rage that's uncontrollable and unknowable to anyone else. When it wasn't the police who walked into the room, but Aimee's father and stepmother, who had come home because they couldn't get through on the phone and were worried sick, the rage appeared for the first time.

The police report says I dropped Aimee on the floor and charged her stepmother. I remember her face, the shock and horror mixed with the smug satisfaction of knowing she was safe, that Aimee wouldn't tell. I still don't know if she cared for Aimee in her own sick way. But something snapped inside me when I saw her.

I don't remember trying to kill her though. The report states that I lunged for her neck, screaming and ranting. According to the first newspaper story, I tried to kill Aimee's stepmother, _too_.

I do remember a man, with strength unmatchable, as he held me down with icy hands until the police arrived. Then he went over to Aimee's prone body, took one brief look at her than shook his head slowly, his face an expression of pity. I remember his eyes holding my own as though he was trying to read what was inside of me. They had been a honey gold and had calmed the panic shooting through me.

I didn't go to the funeral. I wasn't allowed.

I did hear where she had hidden the phone—on her stepmother's pillow, covered by blankets and tucked into the arm of her teddy bear. The paper reported the facts, but no one understood the significance of them. Even when I told them what the significance was, they didn't believe me. They accused me of hiding it earlier in the night, before I had cut my foot, because there were no bloodstains anywhere near her stepmother's bed. There were no footprints by the bed because there was no phone on the bed. Not normally anyway.

When they found it, the phone had long since quit bleating its recorded message: "If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again."

But Aimee had completed her call.

Though they had acquitted me of murder, I was still charged of breaking and entering for they had no proof Aimee let me in. They also diagnosed me with psychotic problems and mild schizophrenia. They said I was mentally unstable, unsafe around other people my age and that's when a Heart for Hope showed their faces and with smooth-talking and tempting persuasion, my parents put me in their charge to better my life.

They didn't know they had put me in a torture cell where they prodded, poked, cut, and zapped. I don't think they would've cared anyways.

And there were the red-eyed people with immune beauty and grace-ness that seemed to be unnatural to us victims. They told me I was special and that I was meant to be like them in due time.

Aimee had always known about my odd gifts. She never told anyone but she always told me I was special and that I was destined for some better than this hell-of-a-life. She always knew I was different but still accepted me as me. She had told me different was a good thing.

I disagreed with her later, after being strapped to a metal bed, needles stuck in my arms, surrounded by six vampires.

_I dropped my head, unable to continue, feeling the stillness of the Cullens around me. Dear, Aimee…where are you? Do you realize what you've done? What I've done? I'm sorry for leaving you alone._

*****

_Carlisle_

"I can't believe the Volturi would stoop that low," Jasper just kept shaking his head, disbelief written all over his frustrated face.

"I can believe it," Edward nearly growled.

"But human testing—for talents?" Jasper shot back.

"Think about all those poor children…" Esme held a hand to her chest. She looks at me with a silent plea in her eyes.

"They do it out of fear," Alice murmured. "They want to remain at the stop and make sure no one can threaten that fact."

"Think of Mercy," Edward cut in. "What could she be capable of that would have the Volturi scrambling for her?"

"Maybe we should ask her," said Jasper, glowering at no one in particular.

I look down at Mercy, her face peaceful in sleep. Her cheek rested on my leg while her small feet rested in Esme's lap. I lay a hand on her arm, avoiding the healing cuts.

"Let her rest—she's been through enough today as it is. She'll tell us in her own time."

Jasper twitched from suppressed emotion and glared out the window.

"The Volturi are afraid—they will act irrationally." Edward thought aloud to himself.

"Should we leave?" Esme asked. "They know where we live."

"There'd be no point," Alice cut in. "It is impossible to outrun the Volturi?"

"What if we went into hiding?" Esme continued. "Carlisle could go on extended leave from the hospital…we have Alice's vision, Bella's protection, Edward's mind reading to keep us safe…"

"And whatever Mercy can do." Emmett cut in with a grin.

I raised an eyebrow at him and Esme continued once more. "Especially if Bella keeps a bubble over us as we leave and whenever Edward or Alice feel something out of the norm. If we stay here, we put everyone in Forks at risk as well."

"She's right." I spoke. "We need to get out of here as soon as we can."

Rosalie crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing and she looked away, clenching her teeth.

"At least we'll be in a secluded spot—maybe we can even visit Denali."

"Tomorrow morning then?" Emmett asked, nearly bouncing.

I shake my head. "No, let's leave at midnight."

_A child's sob in the silence curses deeper than a strong man in his wrath._

_Has anybody seen what's been done_

_Where was my defense?_

_No one heard my protest_

_The eyes of God were watching me_

_It's time I made my peace_

_Let it go and be released_

_So I can breathe again_

_I'm on my knees_


	8. Chapter 8

_Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm inwardly that life with all its sorrows is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow._

Aimee always knew I was different, that there had always been something strange about me, something somewhat _inhuman. _But she didn't care. She befriended me anyways, saying that one day I might change the world. That I had something that no one else had and that made me special. She never freaked when things would accidently happen, when my emotions grew out of control and then I, myself, lost control. She just kept saying that I was going to change the world someday.

Yeah. Right

The Cullens now knew mostly everything. Mostly…but it was enough for me to wait for the moment when they would kick me out or send me rushing for the Volturi. But it hadn't happened yet. I still waited.

Waiting had always been the scariest part of being punished.

So I waited in what I had deemed the safest part of the house which was the room they had given to me with pink eyelet curtains and a creamy white bedspread. A lovely bouquet of pale pink roses sat on the shimmering white dresser, fresh and smelling sweet. Alice had arranged them earlier and when she had left, I had taken one of the delicate roses out of the vase, brought it to my nose to inhale its sweet scent before hiding it in a desk drawer across the room.

I lay now on the bedspread, curled up, clutching Carlisle's pale blue shirt to my chest, staring out the window right next to the bed, where the world was white and fragile and ice hung in shimmering crystals from the trees. It had been a long time since I had glimpsed snow. It was beautiful; something beyond picturesque that proved that there had to be a God somewhere, somehow.

I turned onto my back to stare at the ceiling, noticing that there was not a single crack in the white painting, that everything was smooth and white and perfect. That the portraits on the walls were never crooked and not a single curtain was out of place. The order they held their home in outranked my mother by far who was the epitome or a perfectionist. And obviously I hadn't reached her standards of a perfect daughter or she wouldn't have sent me away.

Was anything perfect? Besides the vampires, of course. But I had to believe that they had some sort of flaw, that there would be something that they just could not do. Maybe if I found that out, I wouldn't feel so useless, so weak. Maybe I could find someone out there who is just as messed up as me.

There was a knock on the door and I jerked, shrinking against the wall, not knowing what would lie on the other side of the door.

Carlisle opened the door slowly, almost hesitantly. "Are you hungry?" he asked softly and I studied him, noting how young he looked and I knew he couldn't be near thirty at all. He looked almost as young as my older brother. I wondered how the other nurses and doctors did not see this. How couldn't they? His college-age looks literally screamed at me from across the room and I briefly thought, if he hadn't been a vampire, that he would probably be surfing the ocean waves while attending some west coast medical school, enjoying being a young adult, still fresh from high school, and ready to face the world head on. He shouldn't be like this—someone trapped in suspended time and getting away with it every day.

He was an unheard ghost as he moved across the bedroom to sit on the bed next to me, watching me as I thought. His presence wasn't threatening. I relaxed slightly, picking at the comforter to give my hands something to do. I waited for Carlisle to speak, for him to tell me that everything was going to be alright or that it wasn't my fault and I needed to move on with life and stop this childish moping. Something like my mother had said.

But he surprised me yet again.

"These are yours?" Carlisle whispered.

I hadn't seen him pull anything out of his pocket but apparently he did. I looked up to suddenly find those wretched metal dog tags lying in Carlisle's open palm. My hand flies to my neck in shock but all I feel is the fading, knotted scar of where the chain had dug into the side of my neck.

"I took it off in the emergency room," he said to answer my unspoken question.

I slowly took the tags, noting that they were clean again, shimmering in the lamp light. I also noticed how they seemed to burn my hand, bite into my flesh.

Tears filled my eyes as I read the six digit number carved into the metal over and over. My throat felt tight and I curled my fingers over the cold metal until I had clenched my fists and I feel the tears creating a new path down my cheeks. The chain spills from my palm and dangles from between my fingers, swinging like a pendulum back and forth. I clench the tags tighter and tighter until it digs into my flesh but I don't wince from the pain it causes.

I drop my head and my curls bob around my chin and ears. I am ashamed and I tried to hide my face from Carlisle. I didn't want him to see the guilt clearly written on my face. The anger, the pain, the sadness, and the fear meld into one and course through my veins and I clench my teeth from the intensity.

My mind begins to shout at me, begging me to stop. No, no, no, no, no! It cried

But the voices disagreed, creeping from the recesses of my mind. Their shrieks were an incessant chant: _Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!_

I drop my hands to the comforter and press my fists into the mattress, deeper and deeper until they could go no more. I choke back a sob and my head gives me a nasty throb.

Carlisle touches my shoulder but we both suddenly freeze.

Beneath us, the house suddenly rumbled, like a slumbering dragon changing positions in his sleep.

The miniature chandelier above me shivers, its crystals tinkling, and the walls shudder and heave. The portrait of a meadow across the room tilts than crashes to the floor, falling flat. The lights flicker briefly and the door opens ajar, the brass knob rattling loudly.

Then it was still.

I look at Carlisle with wide eyes, gasping in fear and horror.

There is no suspicion though. Only surprise. He stands suddenly just before Bella enters the room, her hair in two French braids.

"Did we just have an earth quake?" she asks in obvious amazement. "Or was that an avalanche?"

Carlisle moves to the window to look outside, pulling back the creamy pink folds of curtains. "I honestly can say that I have no idea. When the others get back, we'll ask them if they felt or saw anything. It could have been just a minor shift of the plates—nothing severe. It happens all the time."

Bella walks or floats over to me. "Are you alright?"  
I nod. I had released the clench on the tags in my hand. They had left an angry, stinging red mark on my palm where the metal had bit into the flesh.

For a succinct second, Carlisle anxiously paces, obviously quickly assessing the situation and going through his options, not looking at either one of us as he thinks. Then he looks up.

"We'll be fine." He said in confidence. "Nothing severe happened, just mother nature showing us who's boss." He cracks a grin at that.

Bella seems to accept his response without any doubt. "Do you want to hunt with me once the others get back?" she asks, ignoring me completely.

I freeze. Hunt? Hunt what? Animals? People? God knows what else?

When I look at Carlisle, I find that he is already studying me, his face placid but beneath I knew there roiled emotion.

Bella smiled and brushed my cheek and I flinched quite noticeably. "She'll be fine. Edward and Esme will look after her. It doesn't really take that long. Just a couple animals will suit me."

I felt nauseous. Why were they talking about this in front of me? This was just sick. But then again, I ate meat and poultry and once I tried deer but nearly died at the thought of eating it but drink their blood? Literally drink their blood while they were still alive?

No way.

Carlisle approaches me warily. I was pretty sure he heard the suppressed gag I had gulped back.

"Do you want to come help me make dinner? It will get your mind off things." he asked, holding out his hand, beckoning me to join him. "You're okay." He added gently, seeing the fear frozen on my face. "No one is going to hurt you."

I nodded slowly and let the tags slide from my fingers to the bed. I climb from the bed and shuffled my way to Carlisle and took his offered hand, shivering from the cold touch and almost withdrawing my hand but Carlisle tightened his hold, not allowing me to step back.

"I'm not ready to let go yet." He smiled down at me and led me from the room.

***

"Now be careful and don't burn yourself," Carlisle softly chided me as he nudged my arm away from the burner. "Hand me that little potato." He pointed across the kitchen, sending me away from the stove where a small bag of red potatoes sat on the small kitchen island.

I did as I was told and reached for the small red potato, still studying the new scenery around me, still marveling at its beauty. We were in a cabin—a big one though not as big as their original home but still spacey—in the middle of nowhere. I wasn't even sure if we were still in America for that matter.

But I liked it—with its earthy touch of greens and browns and elegantly carved, wooden and polished furniture. It had a sanctuary feel about it, a place of safety where no one could find you even if they tried.

I couldn't remember arriving though and I suspected Carlisle had drugged me to keep me under as they traveled. I didn't really want to know, though, in what matter we had arrived and it still sent shivers down my back each time I thought of it.

All I could really remember is waking up so drowsy that Esme and Bella had to literally dress me and spoon some foul tasting coffee down my throat to help me wake up from whatever Carlisle had given me.

I heard the door swing open and Jasper breezed through the kitchen, not even acknowledging me, and swept through the opposite door. I narrowed my eyes at his retreating figure.

I felt as though they didn't want me here. I could see that in their movements; hear it in their symphonic voices. Especially that vampire called Jasper (I kept wanting to call him Casper the Friendly Ghost—his skin sure gave him the impression of one, but he definitely wasn't friendly), he barely notices my presence and rarely stays in the same room as me for very long—not that I extremely missed him. Rosalie scared me as well and we did our best to avoid each other. Alice and Esme and Bella were extremely nice to me but their words always hinted towards worry and Edward was polite towards me and Emmett, though always happy, still sent me hiding whenever he came in close proximity with me. Which he found hilarious and which Carlisle had scolded him several times to not his presence so sudden. Emmett just laughed but I was pretty sure he didn't want me around as well.

Except for the doctor with his gold tinted hair and warm, honey eyes. He hovered almost protectively. Though he constantly corrected me and most of the time seemed to be scolding me for something or another, for some reason, I wanted to constantly be near him—I knew I would always be safe with him. I wasn't really realizing it but slowly Carlisle was becoming the father I had always needed. Even though he treated me as though I was a fragile child. In many ways I was and maybe Carlisle knew that.

"Mercy, are you even paying attention to me?"

His voice snapped me from my thoughts and I blinked several times before realizing that Carlisle had stopped what he was doing and laid a cold hand on my forehead. "Are you still feeling drowsy? Dizzy?"

I shook his hand away and glared, doing my best not to cringe. "I'm fine." I said. "I was just thinking."

He raised an eyebrow at me and smiled. "Daydreaming?"

I shrugged and lifted the metal spoon to stir the pasta in the boiling water. He chuckled and reached for another potato, dicing it so fast that I could barely catch the movements.

"How're we doing in here?" Esme had floated in, so unannounced, that it startled me. I whirled and dropped the spoon but Carlisle snatched it out of midair and finished stirring the noodles. Esme was wearing a long white dress made of cotton, looking like an angel who had just descended into heaven to grace us with her presence.

I saw the ultimate devotion filling Carlisle's eyes as he kissed his wife's cheek. I turned away, feeling like an intruder on a private moment. But then she pulled me to her waist and kissed the top of my head and I felt my ears warm, feeling uncomfortable. I strained slightly away from her, trying to convince myself that a vampire really wasn't hugging me.

"Is Carlisle teaching you to cook?" She asked in a sweet voice. Like Snow White or something. She gestured towards the pasta and diced potatoes.

"He's trying," I muttered, ducking out of reach when she tried to pull me closer. "And," I added, pulling open the oven door briefly, "we're making cake. With chocolate icing."

I loved cake. Aimee and I used to make it just for fun just about every week than stuff our faces until we had stomach aches. It was something that we did together that required thoughtless energy and I believed that it was an escape for Aimee from her troubles. A brief one…but one nonetheless.

Esme cocked her head at me and gave me another gentle smile as though she knew what I was thinking. Which would be creepy.

"I think I'll help you," she said without further ado. "I dearly love to cook but I never get a chance to." She shook her head to herself as if she found this appalling.

Which I believed she had a right to. She did drink blood after all. I think. Or maybe I shouldn't think…

My legs wobbled slightly as I thought of that and I couldn't stop the violent images from flashing across my mind. Esme and Carlisle exchanged glances.

"What don't you sit down," Carlisle gestured towards the ornate chairs situated around the small island. "We'll finish dinner for you."

I obliged more than willingly. I watched the couple.

Esme and Carlisle continue to cook, moving through the kitchen like a well rehearsed dance they had practiced for many years. And before long I was seated at a table, eating spaghetti and diced and seasoned potatoes. I don't know how they expected me to eat all the food they cooked but they promised they would save some in the refrigerator in case I wanted some for lunch tomorrow. I happily agreed and I ate till my stomach ached and my eyes grew watery from exhaustion.

I remembered I had laid my head on the table when I suddenly felt something cold and wet on my forehead.

My eyes flew open and I found I was lying in bed with Carlisle and Edward standing over me or, to be fair, Edward was standing slightly away, arms folded over his chest, but his face blank as he watched me.

"You were running a bit of a fever," Carlisle explained, laying the cloth again on my forehead. "I cleaned the lacerations on your back again to make sure I've killed all infection. How are you feeling now?"

I blinked. "I'm fine…" I croaked. "My head hurts a little."

Edward smiled. "You nearly drowned yourself in your spaghetti. Good thing Bella propped you up when she did."

I stared at him, wondering if he was joking or not. He smiled back at me, but his eyes held some sort of fascination. For what reason: I didn't know. I closed my eyes again, sighing.

"You'll watch her?" Carlisle murmured quietly somewhere above my head.

"Yes, I promise I will not leave her side."

"It will only take me a couple of hours tops and then I'll be right back."

"Alright." Pause. Then: "Alice wants to go shopping tomorrow."

"I don't know about that."

"I really don't think there is any real danger."

"I'll think about it when I hunt."

"If you need anything, just call."

Carlisle cleared his throat. "I'm hoping Alice will see before that happens."

And then I fell asleep, listening to the two men talk, wondering why I was still cold under so many covers, and wishing it was my mom sitting by my bed with a wet cloth and not a stranger.

I didn't know what laid in store for me. And I lay trapped by my fevered dreams.

***

I awoke screaming and crying, trapped by twisted sheets, suffocating as I tried to rip free from my entrapment. I flailed against the bindings, falling out of bed and hitting the wooden floor with a hard thump, smacking my head on the planking hard enough to make me go still for several moments.

_'I need to end it, and I can't. Not without your help. Not without you here. It's so dark and scary doing it alone.'_

_'Will you stay with me? Once last time?'_

It took me several minutes to realize that Edward was holding me to his chest, speaking soothing words in my ear, trying to calm the shrieks breaking from my throat and the tears streaming down my face. There were others around me but I ignored them, focusing on the corpse plastered in my mind, glazed across my wide eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," Edward was saying. "It wasn't your fault!"

Had I been screaming Aimee's name? I didn't know. I didn't care. I struggle, trying to break free from this vampire's arms so that I could run and never look back. But he is too strong. He calls my name several times, attempting to have my attention. But I couldn't. The next scream that clawed out of my throat was the loudest yet. I didn't want him touching me. His voice comes louder, so I could hear above my cries.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't kill her," I wrench my eyes upward to where Edward's face hung above me. His voice was firm, intolerant. He turns me around so that he can grip my shoulders.

"You didn't kill her." His voice was fierce and low and angry. His hands gripped my shoulders until they hurt, but I didn't cry out. He shook me, forcing me to raise my head. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his anger. It scared me. "Look at me."

But I couldn't.

"I said what you needed to hear," he says. "Now I want you to say that you didn't kill Aimee."

Everything within me stopped. He believed the lie just enough that he had to hear me deny it. He had doubts. He could deny his doubts to my face even as he cared for me. But his doubts are still there. And if he doubted me, everyone doubted me. Tears slipped down my cheeks, fell on my shirt. "You don't believe me."

"That's not true," he said. "I've always believed you. But I'll tell you who doesn't believe you: You! You don't believe that you had nothing to do with it. You think you did something that helped her. It's you who doesn't believe that you had nothing to do with her dying."

I whipped my head from side to side, tried to escape his hands as they danced before me while he tried to be gentle, pursuing my fingers as they flew through the air, beating at him, at his words. He chased my efforts to still them, but I didn't want him to touch me. I flung myself away, nearly off the bed. He caught me and pulled me back to him, away from the floor, but not away from the yawning pit inside me. Everything shook with my sobs. I couldn't say what was running through my mind, around and around, in dizzying circles.

I didn't kill her! I didn't kill her! I didn't kill her! I had nothing to do with it. Why wouldn't anyone believe that? I didn't kill her! I didn't!

But I said nothing.

Edward pins me to the bed, catching my hands and locking them in a vise-like grip.

I twisted and turned. My heart beating faster and faster.

"Say it," he demands.

I taste the salt of my tears on my lips; hear the crying that shakes my body.

"Say it!"

I cry out.

But I couldn't say it. I can't say it. Because I was there. I was there, and I didn't stop her. Can't he see that? Can't anyone see that? That is why I can't say that I didn't kill Aimee, because I didn't stop her.

I didn't stop her.

I didn't do Aimee any good.

"You didn't kill her, Mercy," Edward voice comes more calmly now but I still hate him. I longed for Carlisle and wonder why he had abandoned me. "There was nothing you could have done."

My breathing slows.

"You're innocent. You did nothing wrong!"

I think again of how I could have given Aimee another cat. Which might have prevented her suicide, or at least delayed it.

Or I could have searched her house for danger signs instead of letting her piss me off with all that Chad crap. I might have found the pills. Or the phone. Hell, if I'd have seen that phone lying with her bear on her stepmother's bed, I would have known Aimee was doing more than just talking about suicide.

But shouldn't I have known that anyway? Isn't talking about it one of the major warning signals? But _nooo_. I screwed that up, closed my eyes to it, thought I had it under control.

But I couldn't control Aimee. That should have been obvious from her car accident and all the other bull crap she pulled. The phone is just one of many hints I have to anguish over. I had a blind spot for Aimee, a carryover from our third-grade friendship when she was the cool one, the one with all the right friends and all the neat stuff. I looked up to her. She could do nothing wrong, especially not this wrong.

That night I didn't know that I shouldn't still be admiring her, looking up to her, worshipping her.

Maybe my hero worshiping was part of the pressure that wore Aimee down and made her give up. Maybe living up to my expectations was one thing too many. But I'll never know for sure, and part of me still won't accept the truth about Aimee. That she was not and never was perfect.

Edward is still speaking but I no longer struggle. My crying quiets to only tears.

What if I hadn't gone to her house alone? What if I had made my mom or dad come, or one of the other kids? What would have happened to them?

Someone else would share the blame. We could have slept in a tag team so that Aimee was never alone. One of us could have gone for help while the other stayed.

But only Chad and the other kids knew I was there, and none of them could stay with her. I keep reminding myself that but it doesn't sink it.

It doesn't matter.

My original plan, to have Aimee sleep over, would have saved her. Maybe Aimee would have done it some other time, but I don't know that. I will never know it. She said she couldn't do it alone, and I didn't understand until afterward that she meant she couldn't die alone.

But here's the hair-splitter. She did die alone. I gave her nothing but arguments during her last few waking moments, and I left her alone for much of the time when she was unconscious.

So even there, I failed her.

Helped her die, my ass, I think, finally meeting Edward's dark eyes with a glare that was not directed at him. I'm watching Aimee die. Yes, I watched her die. But I didn't do it willingly. What did I get out of supposedly helping her die? A stint in the psych ward, a court trial, during which I may have been acquitted, but I'm still guiltily in the public's eye. Then the Hell I went through at the hospital. Hardly a reward. I was also ruled psychiatrically unstable. I wasn't acquitted of the breaking-and-entering charges. There was no proof that Aimee let me in her house.

Loneliness.

That's what I've gotten from Aimee's suicide. Loneliness and not just because she died, which is awful. I am cut off from my best friend forever. She also took away all of my other friends, my family, and my freedom. She even tried, during that last night, to take Chad away from me.

And now I'm sobbing again and shaking because of that night, I believed her. I believed that she and Chad were lovers and that he didn't care for me. And I believe, at least, that she could do that to me: she could have taken him as a lover to make me go along with her plan, or to make me overlook what she was doing. She was capable of that. I can see that now. But I should have known that Chad wasn't capable of it, not with all he knew—the stepmother thing, etc. but she convinced me.

It was part of her game.

Rage scorches my eyes, and I can't see. My heart pounds a loud, staccato rhythm as it strains in my chest and burns as though it's about to burst. My hands clench, my mouth opens as though to scream. I squeeze my eyes shut against the knowledge of who I was and what I let happen. Because a part of me did allow it.

I need to admit that. When Chad testified, I searched for signs that what she said was true, that he was her lover.

But he looked the same.

I want to scream more, longer, louder than I have ever screamed. If Chad had denied what I claimed Aimee told me about the two of them, then everything else Aimee said was suspect, including what she said about her stepmother. I can see at last why they called her a liar.

I could never prove any of what she said was true. Ever.

I can't stay mad at Aimee. I want to, but I can't. She was, is, my friend, and she needed far more than I could give her. I couldn't or wouldn't understand what she needed, so maybe she's wherever she is now, screaming silent screams of anger back at me because I didn't help her. I only watched and acted bigger than I was, acted braver. But I was scared out of my wits of every sad and angry word she said. It terrified me to imagine her in a coffin and dead and not on the other end of the phone when I needed to talk.

So I didn't think it could happen.

Friends don't commit suicide. They don't die.

We'd sit with Aimee like a parent whose kid has chicken pox, and when the outer signs, the pimples, were healed, then she'd be cured. Right? But the chicken pox virus lives in your body forever, and when you are exposed to the virus again, later in life, it sometimes shows up as this gross and painful rash-like thing called shingles.

I think the same thing happens to people who want to die. They never get rid of the bug. They can only try to get help for it and find some way of looking at life that gives them hope and strength. If they're really lucky, they find the joy in life, whatever that is, because I don't think I've found it yet. But some people have, and you can see it in their faces. Their happiness is visible.

I thought just being there would be enough. That having a friend in the house would be enough. She would talk; I would listen. In the morning, I'd turn her over to her parents, her father specifically, and later the whole gang and I would come and confront her stepmother. Then we'd call her mom in Las Vegas and tell her to get her act together and come be a mother.

Aimee had other plans, obviously. She had tried to ask for help in some ways, but no one took her seriously enough. Not even us. Not even me.

That, Edward, is why I have a hard time saying what you want me to say. Because if I had been smarter, if I had been less sure of myself and my ability to save Aimee, if I hadn't been jealous—which is exactly what she wanted me to be—if I hadn't believed she was perfect and that crap never happened to people you know, then Aimee, more willing to accept her pain as something she needed to bear. If I had run out of her house in the first place when I first realized she had taken the pills and the phone was hidden, if I had called someone when I found her drunk, combative, and depressed, if—

_If._ What a word.

What I really need to say is that if I had been God, I could have stopped Aimee. But I'm not, so I couldn't.

The hardest question of all is, Why didn't God?

***_Carlisle_

I sprinted up the staircase leading up the porch, Bella not far behind me. Inside I could hear nothing but the wild thumping of Mercy's heart and the rapid muttering of the rest of my family.

If I had a beating heart, it would've stopped.

Inside, I found Mercy curled up on the sofa, Esme kneeling beside her. Though Mercy was asleep, she wasn't resting for her breathing came ragged and her little hands were clenched into fists as they lay on either side of her splotched face. Her face looked sweaty and feverish and her eyes were half open in her sleep, though the irises had rolled back.

They all looked at me, each face slightly guilty. Except for Edward who stood the closest to me.

He was the culprit.

"I was gone for three hours, three hours!" I struggled to maintain a calm exterior, drawing in several deep breaths and letting them out slow and controlled. "And I come back to this! What happened? What did you do?"

"It was necessary." Edward answered unfazed by my angry advance. His voice was calm and quiet, no signs of stress at all.

"Necessary to traumatize her?" It was very hard to keep my voice down and the anxiety from spiraling out of control.

"It was necessary, Carlisle. Didn't you see? Didn't you hear it in her voice, see it in her face? When she told us her story, it was obvious that she blamed herself for Aimee's death! She thinks it was her fault that Aimee committed suicide, she thinks she has some sort of hand in it! She was trapped by her own body!"

Esme glanced up at me from where she was kneeling by the couch where Mercy continued to sleep, her splotchy face showing the tall-tale signs of her past hysteria. Esme tenderly stroked the girl's black curls, cooing in her ears. Her face looked distraught, mirroring the emotions that I felt churning within me and I wondered if my face was as readable as hers.

Edward lowered his arms and looked down at her as well. "Look, maybe I was a bit rough, but I had to do something, she was past hysterical. I had to get the truth through her. She needed to hear someone say that. She needs to hear herself saying that." He looked at me with an almost pleading expression.

My countenance fell and I nodded. "I'm sorry for over reacting. Please forgive me." I pinched the bridge of my nose. Never had I had so much trouble over my emotions before. Never had I been so high-strung. Mercy had somehow bewitched me.

He nodded in response to my apology or my thought. I wasn't sure.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "How did it go then?" I asked softly.

"I don't know. She calmed down but I didn't get anything really out of her. She'll probably avoid me for the rest of her life." He looked regretful at that and Bella, who had been standing off to the side, laid her head on his shoulder.

"I think you did the right thing Edward," she said soothingly, closing her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "I have a feeling she took what you said to her to heart. All she needed was someone to say all that to her. The poor thing."

"Maybe we shouldn't go shopping tomorrow…"

"She'll be fine," Alice spoke behind me. Her voice held that final tone to it. "I've seen that. She needs to get out."

"What about the Volturi?" Bella asked, opening her eyes again.

Alice closed her eyes briefly. "Nope," she shook her head. "We'll be fine. This place is nowhere near what they think we'll be. She needs clothes." As if that was the most important thing.

Edward's lips twitched towards a smile.

I sighed. "Whatever you want Alice, I'll go along with it. Just as long as it's safe."

"Dare you doubt me?" she asked doing a twirl. "Do you want to come with us Edward and Bella?"

"I think I'll sit this one out, Alice," Bella smiled, tucking her hair behind one ear and giggling.

"Well, you can't expect me to leave my lovely wife," Edward smiles, his eyes locking with Bella's.

Alice rolled her eyes. "What about Esme or are you going to be boring like Edward and his lovely wife?"

"Actually, Alice, I think you and Carlisle will be fine without me. I wanted to do some decorating in the house."

Alice huffed. "Suit yourself. Just think of what you're missing out on…"

We laughed despite then tension.

Alice glared but a smiled played at the ends of her lips. "Don't worry, tomorrow will be amazing!"

I cleared my throat, "That's what I'm afraid of."

_***Mercy_

The day was bright despite the sun being hidden by the pearl gray clouds. It frightened me, being out in the open. I was used to being inside, and despite my recent journey to the hospital with Carlisle, I was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds. And I think Carlisle knew that for he let me cling to his side as we made our way inside the gigantic mall with a billboard on the front in a language that I was not familiar with. Alice, though, was full on throttle, leading the way with her fluid movements. People stared as we passed them and it made me self-conscious.

"I've seen it!" she says excitedly and I watch her in confusion. "In here!" she grabs my arm and pulls me away from Carlisle's side and into a large store, crowded and brightly lit.

I give Carlisle a panicked look, begging him to rescue me from Alice and her obsessions.

"You're fine," he murmured, eyeing Alice who completely ignored him and dragged me straight to a wall of clothing so colorful, so various that my vision blurred.

"Slow Alice," I heard the doctor murmur behind me. "Take it slow."

It must have been several hours later and what seemed to be a hundred bags later when we were heading out. The last outfit that Alice had picked out which I remembered significantly was a baseball like outfit.

"You'll need it later," Alice had said with a grin and a wink. I didn't understand but I guessed I would figure out later whether I wanted to or not.

I wobbled on our way and Carlisle had to support me as we exited the store. But I quickly regained my balance when I saw what was ahead of me.

"Can we go in the pet store and look?" I asked, pointing towards the colorful sign.

Carlisle smiled down at me, relieved that I wasn't totally in shock. "If you want to," he released my arm and followed me.

"I'll put the bags in the car," Alice said, then I'll meet up with you.

Carlisle was patient as I slowly made my way through the small pet store, standing on tip-toes to stroke the rabbits that stayed still long enough for me to touch, who were not afraid of human hands. I peeked through the aquariums at the multi-colored fish, flinched at the snakes, passed quickly by the cats, and gazed at the puppies yipping and wagging their tales. A Great Dane puppy caught my eye, speckled with gray and black, with floppy eats and clumsy paws. Its large brown eyes caught me by the heart and I gently tapped the glass, than laid my palm on the pane separating us and the puppy hurriedly licked the glass where my hand was, its tail frantically whipping back and forth.

Then I dropped my hand, feeling suddenly nauseous. I turned to see Carlisle standing behind me with a compliant face. He smiled, though, when I turned. That is, until he caught the look on my face.

"I don't feel very good." I mumbled and Carlisle's eye tightened with concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked. I looked back at the puppy again, watching it paw the glass, still staring at me.

"I just don't feel very good." My voice came quieter this time. "Can we go now?"

I wrapped my arms around his middle and buried my face into his shirt, closing my eyes, not caring what people saw.

As though I were a small child, Carlisle lifted me and I rested my head on his shoulder. Together, we left the store, and I watched as the little puppy disappeared from view.

This time Alice drove. I sat in the backseat, curled up against Carlisle's side and this time he didn't bug me to put on my seat belt.

"Are you mad at me?" I asked.

"Of course not." Carlisle whispered.

"Did you see all those animals?"

"Yes I did."

"They were all caged up," I murmured, my voice strained.

"I know."

"Why?" I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the lull of the car rolling beneath us.

"I don't know."

I didn't speak after that for a long time and I noticed that Alice kept at the speed limit this time and I watch the world go past in the bleak winter colors of white, brown, and gray. The trees were bare and the sky a liquid gray, where snow-laden clouds threatened to burst at any moment.

"Thank you, Alice," I thanked her shyly in a quiet voice, knowing she would hear me anyways.

Alice turned in her seat and grinned at me, taking her eyes completely off the road which made me nervous.

"You're very welcome! I had fun!"

I smiled hesitantly and looked up at Carlisle's approving face. "You guys are being so kind. I didn't expect that from…from…"

"Vampires," Carlisle finished for me and I stiffened at the word, alarm bells ringing in my head. But they were dimmer this time. Carlisle tightened his arm around me shoulder and I relaxed again.

Another long silence and I broke it with embarrassment.

"I need to use the restroom."

_***Carlisle_

Alice's brilliant grin caught me off guard.

"What is that look for?" I asked, not able to suppress a chuckle. I spoke softly, aware of the gas station browsers staring at us. "What did you do?"

Alice raised her eye brows in mock innocence. "Who? Me? I don't understand what you are talking about?" a mischievous glint suddenly entered her eye. "But, if you really want to know, it'll arrive tomorrow…hmmm…probably around noon or so."

I furrowed my eyebrows but didn't have time to inquire what she meant because Mercy was walking towards us…well…more like slinking towards us like a terrified animal caught in the middle of the daylight surrounded by predators.

Alice nudged me. "Offer to buy her a candy bar," she muttered so that only I could hear.

Mercy reached us, her face gray and her eyes big. She stopped next to Alice and I could barely conceal my surprise at the height difference between the two. Alice had always been so tiny—like a pixie or a fairy caught in the realm of reality but Mercy was even smaller than Alice but her eyes just as big. Typically, girls stopped growing and developing around the age of sixteen. And I hoped she would have a growth spurt before then. I also wondered if any chemicals the scientist had pumped into her veins may had deterred her development.

"Did you want anything to snack on?" I asked her, gesturing to the shelves of human treats.

Mercy followed my hand. "Really?" she asked, fidgeting. She couldn't seem to find an answer that.

"Do you like chocolate?" I prodded, helping her indecisiveness.

Her eyes lit up at that.

Alice giggled like a small child.

I pulled her to the candy bars.

"Do you like almonds?"

She scrunched up her nose and shook her head.

I had to laugh. "That's fine. We'll just get you the plain chocolate then."

The clerk was nice, an elderly man that smiled at Mercy and handed her the candy bar once I paid for it.

"Don't eat it too fast, little miss. You have to enjoy it. Eat it slow." The man grinned and cocked his eyebrows.

A little charisma on Mercy's part showed through her protective exterior when she smiled sweetly and bobbed her head. "Thank you," she said then turned and headed for the door.

I smiled my thanks at the man and followed her outside, lengthening my stride to keep up with her quick pace.

I sat in back with her again and watched her with a smile as she intently and carefully tore the corner of the rich brown wrapper. She broke off one single square and laid it on her tongue. She closed her mouth and looked at me in delight. She seemed to almost melt into her seat.

Then she folded up the wrapper and laid it on the seat beside her.

"Are you not going to finish it?" I asked.

"I'm eating it slow so I can enjoy it." Mercy told me. "One piece a day."

I chuckled. "You do beat all, Mercy."

***

"You're making me nervous, Alice," Edward spoke to her through gritted teeth. "Stop singing that ridiculous song in your head before I lose mine completely."

I shook my head to myself and flipped the page in my book.

"Where's Mercy?" Alice piped up suddenly.

"In her room," Edward answered with a growl. "Where else would she be."

Alice ignored his biting tone and stood.

Esme watched her with curious eyes and Bella studied her warily. Jasper only sat smugly. He didn't know what was going on but he enjoyed the fact that his wife was keeping everyone on edge. Emmett bounced in his seat, excited while Rosalie sat calmly next to him with an annoyed look on her face.

"Five seconds." Alice said.

I looked up from my book and listened to the approach of a heavy motor than the slam of a car door.

"Three…two…one…"

The door bell rang right on time and we all looked at each other, wondering who was going to answer the door.

"MERCY!!!" Alice hollered at the top of her lungs and I cringed at my heightened senses.

I heard Mercy slip off her bed and sprint for the stairs.

"She's awfully fast for such a little thing," Bella commented as she tilted her head to stare at the ceiling.

Mercy appeared, looking nervous. She looked as though she wanted to come over to me but didn't want to go past Emmett and Rosalie to do so.

"Go answer the door," Alice commanded her in a voice that held authority.

"The door?" Mercy echoed. "Why?"

"Because." Was all Alice answered. And Mercy slowly obliged.

We looked at her.

_What in the world is she up too? _I thought.

Edward shook his head so violently that for a moment I thought it would fly off and rebound off the wall.

"You didn't Alice. Tell me you didn't."

Alice put her hands on her hips. "I did."

I closed my eyes and sniffed the air. Something was familiar about the sent mixed with human. Something _very familiar._

A squeal broke through our tense silence and the bark of a puppy followed.

My eyes widened in realization. "Oh, god, Alice…"

Bella groaned and Emmett laughed.

Mercy came running in, her eyes alight in pure joy and her smile wide and brilliant. It was the first time I had actually seen her teeth! And every feeling of doubt instantly vanished within me when I saw her face as she cradled her little bundle in her arms. She ran for me.

"He said it was for me!" she nearly shouted at me, dumping the animal in my arms. "The man said it was for _me_!"

It was the Great Dane puppy Mercy had seen at the pet store yesterday. The exact same one. It didn't even seem repelled by me for it stretched its neck to happily lick my face. I cringed but couldn't stop the smile on my face.

"He's lovely." I said, handing the squirming puppy back to her.

"Do you realize how big that dog is going to get?" Bella said.

Alice nodded, looking a little too smug.

Mercy looked at me. "It's a she." She corrected me. "Not a boy."

"I'm sorry."

Emmett laughed again and reached to touch the dog but Mercy dodged away.

"I was just going to pet him," Emmett boomed with a grin.

"Her," Mercy spat back.

"What are you going to name her?" Esme asked tactfully. She delicately stroked the puppy, her eyes happy.

Mercy thought, her face perplexed by this answer.

"I like Duma." She finally spoke.

"But that means Chee—"

Alice shook her head wildly at Bella who quickly shut-up.

I smiled at Mercy, my entire body feeling the lightest it has felt in a long time. "I think Duma is the perfect name."

_If you get through the twilight, you'll get through the night and make it to dawn._


	9. Chapter 9

_Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms come and go; it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow._

"No—get down—bad dog…!" I tried not to holler but was unsuccessful. My voice came out oddly strained and I'm sure it would have sounded funny to anyone who could hear it.

The Great Dane puppy's front paws rested on the dining table. She turned her big brown eyes on me, sizing me up with the chicken sandwich hanging from her mouth. A drop of mayonnaise slid from a corner of the sandwich and fell to the clean carpet beneath.

I made my way towards the dog, putting on an angry face, being sure not to move too fast so not to frighten it too bad. "Duma," I snapped. "Get. Down!"

As I grew close though, Duma leapt from the chair and bolted in the opposite direction, her tail between her legs, leaving behind her a trail of mayo and lettuce. I pressed my lips into a thin line momentarily.

"Duma!" this time I didn't hold back the shout and I inwardly cringed at myself. She disappeared around the corner, unheeding to my scolding. I sighed, holding the now empty plate aloft. I muttered: "I hope you enjoy that—it was Mercy's dinner but guess it's yours now."

I carried the plate back to the kitchen, meaning to clean it off.

"Having problems?" Esme had approached me, her hair pulled back into a loose pony-tail, caramel locks falling from the band and framing her lovely face. She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Is it Duma?"

"How'd you guess?" I grumbled, running steaming hot water over the plate.

"Oh, I just happened to see her run past me with a sandwich in her mouth. It looked a lot like the meal you were cooking for Mercy. Any coincidence?"

I chuckled dryly. "Slightly," I opened the fridge to start to prepare another meal. "She just got in the shower, so I'm hoping I can prepare another sandwich before she gets out."

"Do you regret that Alice got the dog?"

I paused. "No, I don't. I know she will be good for Mercy. Did you see her face when she ran in?" I smiled at the memory and the tension began to ease out of my body, slowly but surely and the frustration abated.

Esme came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder. Her breath felt warm to my skin.

"She adores the sweet creature."

I nodded.

"I know someone else whom she adores."

"You?" I asked. "You've been so helpful."

"No," she answered smugly, her finger trailing down my right arm, sending tingles down my spine.

"What are you talking about?"

I turned and leaned against the counter. Esme leaned against me, chest to chest, her smile sweet as she looked up at me. I tucked a loose strand from her face behind her ear. And she stood on tiptoes until she was merely inches away from my face.

"Don't you see how she looks to you as she 'protector'?" she murmured.

"I'm only doing my best to help her," I breathed back, my nose skimming her jaw, drawing in her sweet scent. "She needs someone to look after her. You would have done the same thing."

"I would have," she agreed, her lips briefly brushing against my neck. "But I know you can't deny—none of us for that matter—that she trusts you and only you. Even if she doesn't realize it, you're like her hero now—her father."

I blinked in surprise, pulling my face away from Esme. "How do you know all this?"

"How do you _not _know?" she countered back.

"Touché," I muttered. "Do you really think so?" I felt warmed up by the fact. But my joy dwindled almost instantly. "She has a real father out there somewhere." I said solemnly.

Esme's beautiful eyes hardened. "If you could call him a father who would let something like this happen to his little girl. She's such a beautiful, sweet little thing—how could you not be captivated? I think we're doing the right thing. He may be her biological father—but never her dad."

With that Esme drew me close again and our lips met, tenderly, softly.

An ear-piercing scream from above made us jerk apart.

_***Mercy_

I don't really know how long I stayed in the shower, sitting on the porcelain floor with my knees drawn up to my chest, feeling the pounding of the shower water on my back, feeling it run in rivulets down my arms. My stomach was tight with pain but the warmth of the water soothed it slightly. I didn't know if I was sick from extreme stress or if I was just plain sick.

It was when the water began to run cold and goose bumps began to rise on my arms that I stood, stiffly though, for the pain squeezing my middle. I shut the water off and step out of the shower. I reached for my towel and froze in horror.

On the tile, watery blood had splattered the floor garishly in erratic patterns.

My breathing came faster. Inspecting closer, I noticed a stream of dark blood snaking down my left leg, a red river that pooled beneath my foot.

The next moment, my scream pierced the air and echoed off the four bathroom walls. I frantically spun around and noticed my blood had left a splotch on the floor of the tub and spotted the rounded side and slipped to the floor.

Another wave of pain hit me—harder this time and I doubled over, gasping hysterically, wondering if this was the end.

Someone banged on the bathroom door. "Mercy?" It was Carlisle's voice—wild with worry.

"Don't come in!" I shrieked in panic. "I'm dying!"

"What's the matter?" he asked anxiously. "Are you hurt? Did you cut yourself? I smell blood!"

"Go away!" I yelled back, crying now, feeling lost and confused and embarrassed. Realization began to dawn on me and I began to calm down, my breathing slows and the bathroom quits spinning.

There was another knock at the door, this one softer. "Mercy," Esme called gently. "Can I come in? Are you okay?"

I began to sob again, this time in relief and almost happiness. "I think I started my period." With that I sank to the floor, clutching the towel to my chest, letting my tears fall to the floor.

_***Carlisle_

"Does it still hur—?"

"_Yes_!" Mercy's voice came sharp and strained, her pain evident. She lay curled up in a tight ball, her arms tucked around her middle, her eyes squeezed shut.

She had told me that had had her last cycle more than a year ago and I rightly guessed that it must have stopped due to extreme stress and the overdosing of certain medications. Now it came back with full force.

And I was relieved despite the pain she was in. Her body was beginning to return back to normal and start its natural course through life and maybe she will one day grow into the healthy young woman she was meant to be.

Mercy rolled onto her back, tears in her blue eyes, her face was white and sickly.

"It hurts _really_ bad, Carlisle," she whimpered. "I'm going to _die_."

I had to smile at that. "I will not let you die," I assured her, letting her hand squeeze mine until her knuckles turned white. I could tell when another wave of pain hit her because her eyes flew shut and she dug her teeth into her lower lip.

"Owwww…" she moaned, her entire body shuttered and I stood, her hand still grasping mine tightly.

Just then the floor beneath me rumbled. Mercy tensed in fear. She curled back into her fetal position, pulling my hand along with her until she had tucked it under her ribs.

And then it stopped as sudden as it had begun.

"Odd," I muttered. "What do you think, Jasper?"

Mercy's eyes fly back open. Jasper had entered the room cautiously, his face in a slight wince.

"I'm not sure," he answered quietly, "but I came to help with the pain."

I looked up at him, slightly taken aback. But I nodded and with Mercy watching him like a hawk, he settled into a chair in the corner and closed his eyes for several moments.

I felt the tight grip that Mercy had on my hand loosen slowly and her body began to relax in obvious relief.

"What is he doing?" she demanded.

I look over at Jasper, showing him my thanks. "Jasper had the power to control emotions. Remember that one conversation we had about Alice bringing her strong human traits over and amplifying them?"

I turned back, looking for an answer and found that Mercy had fallen asleep despite my talking. I carefully pulled my hand out from under her and sat back in the chair, watching her.

"I still think the earthquakes are odd."

***

"I think we'll need to move again soon."

Jasper and I both looked up in unison at Alice who stood only few feet away, twirling a dying rose between her thumb and index finger.

"Do you think I should get red roses next?" she asked in a thoughtful tone.

"Red is for love," Jasper answered.

Alice smiled wistfully at him. "I know."

I felt an edge of impatience creep up on me as I waited for her to continue.

"I think I'll stay with pink." Alice slid the rose back into its vase. She turned to me. "We should keep moving lest the Volturi picks up on our trail." She sat cross-legged on the floor. "It'll keep them guessing."

"Did you see something?" I asked, my hand instinctively reaching for Mercy's limp one. She continued to sleep, unaware of what was happening.

Alice shook her head. "No."

Jasper shifted uncomfortable in his seat. "I have this feeling that the Volturi could have found us by now if they really wanted to."

Edward was approaching the bedroom. "It seems you may have too much confidence in the Volturi," he raised his eyebrow at his brother as he entered.

"Maybe they're afraid," Alice's smile was almost cunning or devious.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Edward snapped.

"Shhh!" I scolded as the sudden height of volume in the conversation made Mercy stir. She rolled onto her back and her eyelids fluttered open. But I knew her body was only reacting to sound and that her mind was still entangled in sleep.

"You're okay," I whispered soothingly in her ear. "Go back to sleep."

I watch her eyes roam lazily towards my face before slowly disappearing as they rolled back.

Edward and Jasper didn't hesitate to pick up their whispered argument. "With Bella and I working overtime, I pretty sure it has been basically us who have kept us hidden."

"I was just saying that the Volturi are cunning and will stop at nothing to get what they want—if Mercy even is what they really want—we may be over exaggerating on our part!"

"How do you explain their scent all across the hills near La Push, then?" Edward asked.

"I was just saying…!"

I glared at them both. "That is enough," I reprimanded in disapproval. "There is no need to argue pointlessly. But if you really feel the need to, please step out and let the poor girl sleep!"

No one spoke for a moment. Edward looked away and Jasper looked down at his hands.

Alice broke the silence, "We can leave tomorrow," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "And if Mercy is up to it, there's a thunderstorm tonight!"

_***Mercy_

"I don't like thunderstorms," I whispered as Carlisle took a book bag and neatly put folded clothes in it, a jacket and a small first aid kit. I sat at the edge of the bed, playing with my short curls. The pain from my severe cramps had now receded and I only felt a slight discomfort.

Carlisle looks at me. "Why is that?"

"The noise," I answered in a small voice, ducking my head away. "And the tornados…"

My hands dropped into my lap and I hunched my shoulders in shame.

A cold hand took my chin and forced me to look up. Carlisle was looking down at me sternly. "Don't ever be ashamed to admit your fears." He said in firm and quiet voice. "For without them, there will be nothing to conquer and the world would be a very dull place, now wouldn't it?"

He let go and placed his palm against my cheek, his golden eyes melting into a look of caring. "I will be there to protect you. When I'm near you, I won't let anything ever hurt you."

And I believed him—his sincerity, his gentleness…and without even registering what I was doing, I let him pull me against him in a hug and I let myself sink into this haven. He handled me as though I was fragile glass as I knew from previous experience that one wrong move from a vampire could mean a costly effect on a human. Sometimes minor—sometimes…well…not so minor and I had the bruises to prove it.

But I knew Carlisle would never allow that to happen.

I pulled away from him and tilted my chin to look him in the face. He waited, watching as I struggled to voice the thoughts running through my head.

"Carlisle," I spoke in a low voice that quickly shot up several octaves as anxiety pierced my heart. "There's something…something I have to tell you…

"Are you guys ready?" someone boomed behind us.

I leapt a foot in the air, my heart stuttering than picking up at an uneven pace.

Carlisle glared at Emmett. "We'll join you shortly," he said firmly.

Emmett held out his hands in mock defense. "Whoa! My bad!"

With that, he left, leaving so fast that I suddenly found myself staring at an empty space where he once had stood.

Carlisle turned back to me intently, waiting.

My shoulders droop. "I don't really want to go." I mutter.

Carlisle didn't say anything for a moment. Then he sighed. "I think it will be a good idea for us to get out and have some fun. And besides," he added with a quirked brow. "That wasn't what you wanted to tell me."

Darn. I didn't think he would notice something as minor as that and I dropped my head back onto his shoulder. "I don't want to talk about it," I said into his shirt, shame burning my face as I nearly cried in defeat. "Please don't ask me…to…"

I felt Carlisle nod above me. "That is alright." He soothed. "If you don't want to talk about it than I won't make you—but never hesitate if there is something you want to talk about with me or Esme or Alice or whoever suits your need."

I didn't answer but I knew he felt the relief flowing from my body. I didn't mean to be so weak—I cringe, waiting for the voices but there was only silence—as I thought this.

"Are you ready to go? It's just me and you in the car."

I looked up at that, surprised. "What about everyone else?" I asked in bewilderment. I thought this was an "everyone" thing. If Carlisle thought I was going to play baseball with just me and him than maybe he was a little cracked from being around for so long after all.

Carlisle chuckled, obviously reading the look on my face. "They are travelling in a different means than us."

"Oh." I narrowed my eyes at the wall in thought. "Oh." I repeated and Carlisle's smile grew larger.

"It's alright. We'll be able to drive part of the way."

***_Carlisle_

She was sitting quite stiffly in the passenger seat beside me, one hand gripping the door handle, the other clutching the seat belt strap. Her face was white.

"You need to relax," I told her gently and she shot me a panicked look. "You look as though you're about to make a flying leap out of the moving car."

Mercy scowled. "I'm thinking about it," she muttered, relaxing slightly and I realized what must have been frightening her. I ease my foot away from the gas pedal and the car slows and I could tell this brought her great relief. She lets go of the car handle and both her hands drop in her lap where she fidgeted. She was wearing the baseball jersey that Alice had brought her and a gray-blue cap on her curly head. She catches me studying her and she smiles at me—a forced one, but one nonetheless.

She was the one who started talking this time. "Do you think she'll be alright all alone?"

I looked at her quizzically. "Who?'

"Duma," Mercy replies impatiently, looking annoyed that I didn't know what she had been talking about and I smile at that.

"Ah, yes," I cleared my throat of all laughter before speaking. "The dog."

She nodded.

"She'll be fine. I locked her up in the kennel and gave her fresh water. She already had her meal for the night." _Which was actually yours…_I grudgingly thought. "So I believe she'll be just fine."

"What if she gets lonely?"

My smile grows larger. "She won't."

"How do you know?" she pressed.

I look at her seriously. "I'm seven hundred years old, Mercy. I know everything."

She didn't take my teasing. Instead, she looked unimpressed.

"Maturity doesn't come from how many birthdays you have."

I nodded my approval. "Very wise of you to think that."

Mercy accepted that and looked away, out the window, looking thoughtful in a forlorn sort of way.

"What are you thinking?' I ask her, wishing I could ease the thoughts going through her mind and soul.

Mercy doesn't turn to look at me. "I was thinking of Aimee."

This shocked me because I couldn't remember her actually answering such a direct question as the one I just asked. I look her but she still was refusing to turn her head towards me.

"Aimee," I repeat slowly and the name was nearly sour on my tongue.

"She used to have a cat." Mercy continued. "She loved the thing."

I waited.

"But it died the day her dad left."

I wince then. "Did her father ever come back?"

She nods slowly, her face tinged green. "She was dead by then though."

This time I was the one averting my eyes, determined to stare at the road in front of me.

"Maybe if I had gotten her another cat she would have had something to live for."

I gave her no answer.

"But I didn't think of that." Mercy's voice breaks. "I wish I had though. But I can never think of the right things."

"I don't believe that," I counter softly.

Nothing.

"She was my hero." Mercy continues.

"I know."

"She shouldn't have been. Heroes don't kill themselves."

"Not everyone is perfect. Superman was defeated by a green rock from space." I faltered for something right to say, realizing that what I had just said probably wasn't it.

Mercy sniffles. "But she wasn't Superman. And Superman didn't do it willingly."

I pull into the grass between two trees that discreetly hide the Mercedes.

"You and your family are perfect." It came out nearly as though it is was an accusation.

I shook my head slowly. "No, Mercy. We're far from perfect." I sighed. "You have no idea."

***_Mercy_

Carlisle pulls the keys from the ignition and looks at me calmly. "No one can change the past, Mercy. But we can learn from it and create for us a new future."

I was afraid to move, to ruin this moment of serenity. The wood around in front of us seemed hauntingly beautiful—quiet and mysterious. Carlisle didn't speak, as though he was allowing me to process my thoughts, letting me to decide what is right.

"Aimee's death was unfortunate," he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. My chest constricted. "It was life short lived—but it wasn't your fault Mercy. Do you think she wanted you to suffer?"

"Yes," the answer sent me mentally stumbling back a few paces. I hadn't meant to say that so freely. It just sort of came out without my thinking.

Carlisle looks at me sharply as though to reprimand me for such an answer but he only opens his mouth slightly, no sound moving past his lips.

There was silence. And we both sat in the silent car, Carlisle looking at me and me looking out the window. It was a tense silence in which I waited for the anger—either from me or him. But I knew he wouldn't be the one to get angry and it would be me who finally blows the top.

Then he spoke: "How do you know that." It was more of a statement than a question. I hated questions though—because I hated answering them for fear of revealing too much.

"She always said that I was different." I wince, clenching my fists, digging my nails into the flesh of my palms. When he didn't answer I looked to him and was taken aback when he wasn't sitting next to me.

My back straightens like a wire and I rise up slightly off the seat. "Carlisle?" I panicked.

"Yes?" I whirled around to see he had opened the car door for me, his hand waiting for mine.

It took me a moment for me to steady my pounding heart.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. We just have to get going." Carlisle smiles. He helps me out of the car. "Different isn't always a bad thing. How does being different answer my question, though?""

I flinch at the slam of the car door and glare down at the grass. "I don't know." I answer softly. "It just does."

He sympathetically places a hand on my back and I did my best not to tense. "Do roller coasters scare you—I mean the speed?" he asks.

That was an odd question—and totally random. I give him a weird look. "No. Why?"

"Well…" he tightens his eyes. "We're going to have to run the rest of the way."

"I can't run as fast as you," I say quickly and his mouth twitches in humor.

"I know."

That was all he said. I wait for more but Carlisle remains quiet.

"Sooo…how are we going to run, then?"

"You have to ride on my back."

I shudder before realizing that I had done so. I step away from Carlisle, shaking my head in a jerking movement. "Ummm…" I choke out a panicked laugh. "I-I don't know about that…"

Carlisle holds out his hands in a helpless gesture. "It's the only way." He said.

"I'll walk." I narrowed my eyes at him. I take another step back, away from the crazy vampire standing motionless. He cocks an eyebrow.

"I don't think that will be possible."

"Oh I think it will be." I turn my back to him but he catches my arm.

"All you have to do is close your eyes. There isn't really a need to be frightened. It'll be over quick. They're waiting for us."

I sighed, frustrated but unable to say no. Who was I to be stubborn when these…'people'…had given me so much, including protection and money?

"What if I fall?" I bleated unable to keep my voice from sounding pitiful.

"You won't." Carlisle smiled but it wasn't a condemning smile but one of understanding.

I ducked my head and nodded. I knew it was bound to be an awkward situation but I had to endure. Yet even with that thought, I couldn't suppress the scream that ripped from my throat as I suddenly found myself pulled up abruptly onto his back and the wood around me whipping past at incredible speeds that I never thought possible. I wrapped my arms around his neck in a strangle hold and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to scream again. The speed sent my stomach jumping to my throat but at the same time, I felt a touch of exhilaration in my chest.

But it was over before I knew it. The ride was over and I found myself slowly sliding from Carlisle's back to sit on the grassy floor of the earth. My head was still spinning from the heart-throbbing trip and it somehow felt as though the ground beneath me was still moving as my equilibrium struggled to catch up.

"Are you all right?" Carlisle asked apologetically, crouching down to be eye level with me.

I nodded.

"I totally understand how you feel," Bella spoke above me. There was a bit of a laugh in her voice. "I nearly fainted my first time but you get used to the speed after a couple times."

"Oh." Was all I could breathe out.

"Surely you've experienced it before…"

Carlisle was shaking his head infinitesimally at Emmett who had been speaking.

I knew what he was getting at but I was able to curb the sharp cut of fear in my chest. Seeing Jasper wince out of my peripheral vision, I did the best I could to repress the sudden bloom of emotions. I took Carlisle's offered hand and stood, slightly wobbling but I was well enough to smile. Esme picked up my baseball cap and fitted it back on my head. She cocked a grin.

"Play ball?"

***

The helmet felt heavy on my head. I wobbled slightly under its weight as I made my way to home base. I could hear the thunder in the distance and I shivered with a slight chill. Edward stood motionless on the pitcher's mound, the baseball cap on his head slightly askew but still looking as though it was meant to be stylish. The stripped baseball jersey felt baggy. I couldn't believe I was doing this.

"Gently, Edward," I heard Carlisle murmur behind me and I didn't think I was supposed to hear that. I rested the bat on my shoulder, finding my balance, feeling my heart pound within my chest.

I could feel Jasper shift slightly behind me. Edward stayed motionless, his golden eyes seemed to burn as he stared at me.

I thought he had moved and I saw this glimpse of a white blur and I felt a brief wind graze my face. My eyes popped. I couldn't move for shock. They were laughing in the outfield.

Jasper cleared his throat. "Er…strike one."

"Edward!" Carlisle chided and I could nearly feel his nervousness radiating towards me.

Edward grinned in obvious amusement and I scowled, planting my feet again.

This time, I actually saw Edward move. He raised the ball slowly, exaggerative, cocking an eyebrow my direction.

"Come on, Edward!" Bella called impatiently, her body tensed as she readied for a sprint from third base. "I don't want to wait a hundred years.

Then the ball was flying towards me. I tensed my muscles, waited, then….smack! My ears rang with the target. I was momentarily stunned.

"Go!" I heard both Esme and Carlisle shout at me. I snapped to life, dropped my bat then sprinted forward, my curls flying in the wind. I was suddenly alive, running like I used to when I was in track. I left everything behind me and looked at nothing but my goal.

Edward went for Bella first, obviously allowing me a head start. I couldn't remember the last time I had ran so hard…it was wonderful.

Then Edward was coming upon me as I neared first base. He ran at a fast human pace but it was still intimidating to have a vampire running at me.

I squealed with triumph and surprise as I touched first base. My toe caught the edge of it and my ankle twisted. My body followed and I twisted in mid-air before hitting the dust, head first, the helmet echoing with a dull thump.

Maybe I had blacked out momentarily for the next moment every Cullen was standing over me, their faces inquiring. Carlisle had a furrowed brow and was kneeling by me. "Are you all right?"

I giggled somewhat drunkenly, not able to form any words with my mouth. Carlisle gently removed the helmet from my head, placing his cold hand on the side of my neck.

"Did she hit her head?" Emmett asked, his hands on his knees, his baseball cap sat backwards on his head.

I giggled again, goofily, and tried to sit up but Carlisle wouldn't let me. "Lay still, Mercy."

"I'm fine," I said, brushing his hand aside and pulling myself up. "Can I have another go?"

Carlisle chuckled. "Why don't you sit this one out?"

I stumbled when I stood and four pairs of hands reached out to steady my drunken form. "That was amazing…" I sputtered with another laugh, letting myself collapse against Carlisle; his arms supported me as my cheek pressed against his chest, my eyes closed, my face in a permanent, blissful smile.

It didn't bother me that I didn't hear the erythematic beating of a heart within the doctor's chest. I only heard the gentle whooshing of air as he breathed in and out. I mimicked him, breathing in sync to his empty chest.

"I think I'll umpire the next round." Carlisle said. "She's had enough excitement for one day."

"Odd." Rosalie mumbled but I was pretty sure I heard a hint of a smile in her voice. Emmett boomed with his laughter.

"PLLAYY BAALLLL!" He practically roared, making me jump in start. I opened my eyes to see Alice fling the ball into the air, which Edward caught with a saucy grin.

"Prepare to loose, bro," he mocked.

"Yeah, whatever," Emmett answered, sprinting with ungodly speed towards home plate. He picked up the bat I had flung down and spun it around several times before catching it with his other hand.

***

Three hours later, I rode comfortable in the front seat of Carlisle's Mercedes. Alice and Esme sat quietly in the backseat as I dozed, fading in and out of not-quite-slumber. My euphoria had faded away and left behind only a severe head ache and a lingering chill that clung to my bones. I was so out of it that I didn't even flinch when Carlisle's rested the back of his hand on my cheek than my forehead.

Esme leaned forward and I flinched when her hand touched my shoulder. "How're you feeling sweetheart?" she asked me.

"She feels a bit feverish. I think you overdid it this time," Carlisle removed his hand.

I shrugged. I didn't want their pity. I didn't need their pity.

"Oh, stop looking so grumpy, Mercy," Alice said from the back seat. Her, herself sounded grumpy and when I turned around in my seat, I saw that Alice was not looking at me but glaring out the window at the passing world.

"Turn around in your seat, Mercy." Carlisle said. "It's dangerous for you to do that."

"Why?" Alice asked. "Are we going to crash?"

Esme smiles at me. "She's just mad because when you're around her visions get all musty."

Alice stuck out her tongue at Esme and I was instantly shocked at her behavior. Was it really because of me? But I didn't do anything wrong…well…I guess that could be considered a biased opinion.

"You're fine," Esme assured me with another sweet smile.

I turned around and put my hand to my forehead, seeing if I really was feverish, wondering if I could somehow push back the headache.

_Now…it is time…_

I jerked in my seat so suddenly that Carlisle snaps his head to look at me. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Three pair of vampire eyes stared at me for an answer.

"Just a cold chill," I lied but I knew he didn't buy it. I knew he could see the fear widening my eyes and the sudden paleness my cheeks had gained.

"I'm fine," I whisper, knowing they would hear, knowing that they would see right through the lie.

I kept my eyes on my lap for the rest of the trip.

_I couldn't do it without you…_

_****Carlisle_

I was relieved from the progress Mercy had seemed to be making. She was definitely growing a lot more comfortable with Emmett who had terrified her in the beginning. He was being gently with her, aware of my watchful gaze, aware of her fragility.

I watched as he slung her on his back and zipped down the staircase as I shouldered the bag of Mercy's clothes. I did a quick once-over of the room. Making sure that nothing was being left behind. I noticed that one of the drawers to the white dresser partially open and move over to it.

A faded pink rose laid dried and shriveled in the drawer, but somehow still containing its beauty that could only be found in nature. Mercy must have hid it here for some reason or another and I decided to pack the rose as well, thinking that she would look for it in the near future. Mentally agreeing on this, I quickly found a plastic, zip-lock bag and gently place the flower in the package than wrapped it as careful as I could with tissue paper from a box in the closet.

I checked the room. It was empty, devoid of life, completely and utterly barren without the glow of a human soul

I sighed.

Preparing to move again was not exactly appealing but I realized it was necessary. I had gone into hiding before, knew what to expect, knew that tensions got high, but they were always straightened out in the end. Hiding from the Volturi was another story, though. Something that I had believed virtually impossible yet here we were, evading them was ease. It was impossible, really. But we were doing it. Somehow…

I smiled to myself, hearing Mercy giggle two stories below and hearing Emmett's booming laugh echo hers. She needed to laugh, need to feel that joy was still possible. I had been in a position of despair before and I knew that Mercy could pull through this, that we could get this all behind her and she could somehow learn from her past and formulate a promising future. I wondered if that future included being changed into a vampire.

I shuddered. No, don't think of that. I chided myself inwardly. The key was to just get through this day first before moving onto the next. Before trying to make any more major decisions. But the lingering smile quickly slid from my face when I heard the squabbling below pick up between the sibling vampires—it was never a good sign. Vampires fighting with a human around was never a good thing to have. Esme must have thought the same thing for she met me in the hall as I jogged down the first spiral of stairs. Together we ran down the remaining flight of.

What I saw chilled me to the bone and I froze, fully aware that any sudden movement could kill the little girl in front of me.

Mercy had slid down from Emmett's back, looking slightly frazzled, from the run. But her disorientation was quickly dying off, fear replacing like oil in water—a thicker layer that sent her heart pounding and her body into a cold sweat. She stood in between Emmett and Rosalie, a tiny, porcelain doll caught in between two 'monsters'. I didn't like the terminology my brain used but that was exactly how it looked. My eyes widened, fearing the outcome but willing to take it all in calmly.

"What's going on?" I demand in a quiet but firm voice. I gesture for Mercy to move towards me. She begins to comply, rather gratefully but Rosalie was quicker and she suddenly grabs her forearm. I freeze again, mentally sending up a prayer.

Mercy's answering cry was drowned out as five vampires bristle.

"This is what's going on!" Rosalie answers in anger, shaking Mercy roughly. Esme besides me cringes in fear and I feel her body tense; she was fighting the instinct to jump in the middle but she, like me, realized that might not be the best plan.

"Stop it!" Alice shouts at her; she falls into a crouch.

"Rose, you're kinda pushin' it—" Emmett cuts in a strained tone.

"Lay off, Rosalie!" Edward growls a warning as Esme gasps and Bella hisses. Jasper moves forward quickly, hands reaching for the human girl; I could feel the waves of calm washing over me. But it wasn't helping. Not me, at least. And obviously not Rosalie, either.

"First Bella, now her!" Rosalie continues unabated. "Why do we keep putting ourselves in these situations? I thought the goal was to lead _normal _lives. But now we have to misfit stirring up trouble with none other than the Volturi! And now we're in the middle!'

"Rose…" Emmett takes Mercy's other arm and trying to pull her towards him, trying to break her free and send her towards me. "Just let her be, it isn't her fault…"

Rosalie pulls back in a unthinking, violent yank.

"No—wait!" I shouted, launching forward towards them with the speed of a bullet.

It wasn't fast enough.

A sudden, sickening pop made everyone freeze in disconcertion.

All this happened in less than a second.

Mercy's eyes grow blank from sudden pain and her face drains to a pasty white. Emmett releases the arm he had and it falls loosely, awkwardly to Mercy's side, obvious even to a human eye that it was no longer connected with the shoulder. Rosalie had enough sense not to let go as well.

"Oops." Emmett says, his face twisted.

"Yeah, oops is right!" I admonish in anger, rushing to Mercy's side.

An explosion to my right makes me stop and whirl. The line of glass vases, delicate and complexly made and sitting on a hanging shelf begin to explode vehemently, one after another in quick eye-blurring, succession. So quick, that human eyes wouldn't have picked out the pattern. In less than three seconds, the vases had ruptured into a billion glass shards, littering the floor like shimmering clear, fragmented jewels.

A ghostly pause.

Turning around quickly, I watched in disbelief as the wall of portraits spilt straight down the center of their paintings, then fell to the carpet with an echoing thump, the nail they had been hanging from shooting from their buried position and glancing off the opposite wall. Then the lamps shattered in horrified unison, the light bulbs popping as they flickered than cracked, sending us into gray-darkness. The windows trembled, as though shaken by a great earthquake, fractured loudly than gave away as well, splintering, spitting glass dust haphazardly.

Then there was an eerie silence where nothing moved, no one breathe.

"Is it over?" Esme asked in the quiet, fear and horror in her voice.

"I think so," Bella answered in a breathy, scared, disbelieving voice. "_What. Was. That_?"

It was Alice who answered. Her voice was ominous. "I think…I think _that _was Mercy."

I was unable to move or breathe as I stared at the innocent waif in front of me, eyes blank, dead, staring at something unseen. Rosalie had dropped in the middle of the chaos and she lay limply on the floor. I moved towards her carefully, hesitantly. "Mercy?"

A tremendous crack reverberated off the walls. The ground rumbled and shuddered. A spider web crack split the floor in two. It shifted and one half of the room fell two feet lower than the other half—pipes, wires, plaster, and cement crumbled and snapped. I jumped away from it, back to the wall, staring at the destruction with a gaping mouth.

Everything fell into a dark silence once more.

It was Jasper who broke it.

"I think I know why the Volturi want her."


	10. Chapter 10

_Freedom is taken so much for granted when you don't appreciate the small things that you have._

_I didn't kill anybody. I didn't perform a crime. Hell, I've never drank a drop of liquor, nor smoked a cigarette, never looked twice at drugs. Never took what wasn't mine. I'm what Aimee called a hundred-percent straight shooter, but I'm here, this hell hole, my personal 4-wall prison. All because of me—this thing within me—this demon that I must care for and nurture for this is why I'm here. It's amazing how something that seemed to so simple can destroy so much._

_It's horrible here. So isolated, so lonely. Except for the occasional doctor or scientist. I've forgotten how to feel. This numbness has taken over—this sense of surreal ness. I no longer feel the prickling sense of fear when I see them coming for me nor the slice of pain when they slide in yet another needle. Just this hollowness—this emptiness eating away at me, turning me inside out. It's amazing how much a human will endure just to survive._

_It's always the same here. Always. I have a tendency to feel sorry for myself but I'm constantly remained of all those innocent children who have been mercilessly murdered—stripped of their future…their life. All because of what they could do. Those people. They were only young. They, too, have committed no crime. They're just innocent._

_I go through the 'day in, day out' routine. It's a punishment I must face as part of my sentence. I hate it. The only thing I have to go by is that it's all for my own good._

_I suppose it's my fault I'm here. For years I've spent toying with fate. Maybe fate has chosen to toy with me. In which case, fate has served this purpose well. For such a little time I was so free with Aimee. The world: my playground; the soil: my arena._

_Fate has pushed so far as to see my life teeter on the edge of a building or a knife to my wrists. But I would never jump—never push the blade in. I live for my parents. For Aimee. For the people that I still loved despite everything they had done to me. For when I die, it is not me who will be affected. It's the ones I leave behind._

_This will probably be the only goddamn prison that leaves its doors unlocked. There were no escaping vampires whose senses were unparalleled and speed was impossible. It's the torture I must face as part of my sentence. But I dare not leave…not even for freedom._

_The worst part about being here is how time ticks by incessantly…so slowly. Being caged doesn't mean that times stops, for we all live our lives by the clock. And so, too, do I live mine. But much slower. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes like hours, hours like days, days like months. It's like chasing a rainbow to no resolve…you just chase it._

_I've found the best way to past time is to sleep, because when I sleep—I dream. And when I dream, I can rise above the walls of the prison._

_I dream of waking up among lilies and getting that feeling in your body that only comes when you're by yourself._

_I dream of simple things that posses so much beauty for even the most unfortunate person._

_I dream of listening to the whispering of my breathing. Paying attention to the function more so than any routine moment._

_I dream of seeing things so beautiful that it hurts to watch them._

_Freedom is taken so much for granted when you don't appreciate the small things that you have._

_You know, the hardest part about dreaming, is having to wake up._

_Because when I wake…I'm still here…_

***Mercy

"I know you're here."

The trees, the leafs, seemed to tremble from the whisper of my voice, their branches creaking and groaning. I touch the rough bark of one, graying in its age, feeling the texture beneath my figure tips, the bite against my skin, the moisture clinging to the curve of my palm. I waited for an answer for any sound of movement. I waited for him to speak; I knew he wouldn't leave me out here alone in the woods, with twilight creeping over the horizon and silver clouds promising more icy rain. A sliver of the moon peeked from behind one, the only light in the blackening sky. The stormy clouds pulsed with the colors of a fresh bruise as they hung over the dim, setting sun. He wouldn't leave me alone.

I waited.

He moved like a ghost, silent, without a sound. But I could feel him behind me, approaching me swiftly and the sweet scent of cinnamon and honey wafted up my nose.

And he was there when I turned around. He was standing in the middle of the dense clearing, his chest heaving, beads of dew clinging to the tips of his white-blond hair; it curled from the humidity, making him look more boyish than normal. His eyes were dark, wary, unsure and he half- circled me and our eyes never left each other. His face held no other hint of expression, though, making me feel slightly on edge.

I was the first to look away, finding that his piercing gaze was too much to handle.

"I'm sorry." I muttered, feeling the prickling of tears in my eyes. I didn't know why I was tearing up though.

"Why?"

"For everything," I answered with a break in my voice, tracing the erratic patterns carved into the tree. But when one pattern began to look like a haunting face I stopped and looked away. So I looked at him instead, my eyes begging for there to be no anger or disgust. "For what I did. For the danger I put you and your family in."

I waited for Carlisle to contradict me. He didn't.

The sound of my breathing rang loudly in my ears…in…out…I pulled each breath in with a loud sucking noise, tearing my lungs wide open. . The voices were back and I could hear them whispering in my head, at the base of my skull, sending tremors, like electric shocks, down the length of my spine. A feeling of pins and needles.

I hadn't known I was clutching my head until Carlisle spoke again.

"Why do you do that?"  
"Because it hurts."

"Your head?"

"No. My mind."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes."

There was a silence. Raw and loud. Though the rain had ceased a while ago, mist still hung in there air, wrapping its cold fingers around me, dampening my clothes and beading on my skin. Should I tell him about the voices in my head? Should I tell him the things that they whisper to me, seductive and dangerous?

"I am afraid."

"I know." Carlisle tightened his eyes, his face deepening into a look of distress.

Another silence.

"Why are you so afraid?"

And then I was running, sprinting, hurtling my way through the thickets, feeling the whip of the branches on my face and the fear clawing my soul. And the animosity boiling in my blood. I couldn't really control my impulsive actions. It was _them _who told me to do it. It was _them _who made me run.

_Trust no one._ They whisper, their voices like nails hammering into my skull. _He only wants to use you. He only wants to own you._

_Turn around and kill him._

I didn't realize that it was my scream that was echoing in the forest, my cries that were haunting the tree tops.

Animosity is like blood. It gushes from a wound cut deep with carelessness. It darkly stains everything it touches and splatters garishly on the people, the earth, around it. When dried, it's hard to clean off; the stains remain where the blood had soaked. Like a rushing river, it spills where it wants to, carving into fragile earth, uncontrollable, unstoppable. Animosity is beyond anger, beyond hate. It's a searing feeling, ripping through the stomach, hissing and steaming. It settles just below the surface, like a deadly, unpredictable volcano, broiling, waiting for its chance to erupt, to lash out, to attack. It is a monster, hidden, unknown, waiting, seeking for its prey, longing for the split-second moment when it darts in for the kill.

I felt it within my bones. My blood. My eyes go red with rage. And for a moment, I wanted to do what they told me. I wanted to make someone suffer as much as I have. I wanted to make Carlisle feel just a tiny bit of the horror I feel inside. The thirst to kill seethed dangerously within me.

But no! A voice of reason screamed within me. I couldn't! I kept my feet moving forward lest the darker side won. No, no, no, no. I chanted in desperation.

I ran like I was being pursued by a demon from hell. In an ironic way, I was.

I knew Carlisle wasn't far behind—though his footsteps were soundless, but I knew he was there, shadowing me like a ghost, haunting each footstep as I frantically tried to run away. It was stupid, I know, for it was impossible to escape the clutches of vampires—or it is supposed to be. But I knew that in this case, it was hopeless. But I still ran, the animosity pulsing hotly through my blood.

_***Carlisle_

It wasn't hard for me to keep up with her. I didn't want to frighten her—though I knew that I had already. But I didn't understand fully exactly _why _she was running from me. Something I must had said, something I must had done to somehow trigger her instinctive feeling of flight.

She was surprisingly fast for a human and her agility promised a track star—if she had had the chance to pursue the dream. I watch the wind tug and twist her black curls; I watched the muscles within her pale legs quiver from exertion and the blood pumping madly through them.

"Mercy," I call, desperately wanting for her to stop but fearing to scare her even more if I forcefully stopped her myself.

To my utmost surprise, she stopped.

Well, she more liked jerked and spun around, a look of dangerous acrimony darkening her face.

"Stop!" she screamed, hurtling a rock in my direction; I watch it land among leafy foliage. "Just stop following me!"

"I _can't_,' I groaned softly and I didn't think she had caught it. I wanted to take her into my arms and just hold her tight. I wanted to protect her for the world. But at this moment I wasn't looking at Mercy. This girl that stood stiffly in front of me was someone else. Someone who had the potential to be deadly. And the voice that came out grating and hateful was not hers either.

"_I want—"_ she grabbed her head, her fingers twist her hair. "_To be—"_ she slumped to her knees, doubled over at the waist, her hands pulling on her hair so hard I feared she would rip it out. "_Left—" _Her fists hit the earth with a _smack!_ "_ALONE!"_

The earth beneath me groaned and split. The trees creaked and a wild rush of leafs whipped around me like a storm of greenery. I fall to my knees in a twinge of panic, willing myself to not move, hoping that Mercy would soon calm down.

"It's not _fair_!" she screamed to no one in particular. She digs her fingers into the earth and the sky above rumbled, its clouds roiling and blackening.

The ground shifted again and I lose my balance, falling to my hands, fear pitting my stomach. A brilliant vein of lightening split the sky, echoed by a boom of thunder, followed by a gust of wind and a rush of rain.

But her scream wasn't lost amidst the howling wind. It was distinct, feral—a bone-chilling cry that sent shivers snaking down my spine. She was now flat on the ground, her hands limp, her clothes streaked with mud, the rain water creating small puddles in the clawed earth.

"Mercy," I whisper uselessly, knowing she would never hear me above the noise, above her anguish.

She didn't move as the driving rain pounded down around us at a slanted angle. I swipe at the hair falling in my eyes. I watch as her fingers slowly flexed; the mud oozed around her wrists. I pull myself into a sitting position, knowing that she could get sick in weather like this but afraid to touch her. I hear her heart beat slowing to a steady thump and with each gentle beat, the rain slowed to a misty drizzle than to nothing but cold air.

"I'm so sorry," I heard her broken whisper all the way to the depths of my being.

Her fingers dragged through the mud. Her back heaves. The muscles in the back of her neck constrict.

"Just leave me alone," she quietly pleads. "Let me die here."

***Mercy

"Mercy…" his voice came as a whisper—a ghostly hum that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "I can't do that."

"I'm a_ monster_," I sobbed. My heart splintered and cracked, the pain was devastating. "I killed Aimee…I killed her! I caused the earthquakes! I'm the one the Volturi wants. They want me as a weapon! A weapon that human and vampire will fear! Something devastating and evil and…" I couldn't finish. I feel myself sinking deeper into the overwhelming pit of despair. I feel the waves cover my head and the hands of anguish pull me deeper within their dark depths.

Lying on my stomach, with the taste of salt and earth in my mouth and feel of anguish in my gut, I wanted to die. I wanted Carlisle to kill me. I knew he could do it with just a simple twist of a hand. The rain picks up again, icy and sharp. Like needles falling from the bruised sky, meant only for me as they pierced bare flesh and drove deeper than bone.

"_I don't think I could have come this far without you as my friend. Will you stay with me tonight? One last time?"_

I let out a scream, in truth, more of a howl. Angrily I slammed my fists into the soft ground. Mud splattered. Gut wrenching sobs shook my entire body as I futilely beat the ground, feeling the rain pounding my back and wind rushing through my hair and slapping me in the face. Never-racking pain tore violently through my battered body, a pain so unreal that every last synapse and cell revolted. In my blinded rage I hit something hard, a rock perhaps, and my hand ached. I sobbed so hard I gagged. I kept punching. The memories weren't that far away now. I didn't want to remember but I didn't want to forget. Blood and soil became one and I cursed myself into the night.

_Darkness. Voices whispering in my head. _

_Can't. Breathe._

_I couldn't outmatch the strength of whoever had me; I couldn't fight my way free._

_The voices grew louder until they were screaming as loud as me. I groaned, pounding my fists on the linoleum until they were numb._

_I grabbed at whatever I could, flailing, screaming: bedposts…a table leg…the back of the chair…and finally the brass door knob which was ripped away from my fingers…_

"I'm so sorry sweetheart." Her voice was anything but comforting. Her eyes were like ice and her voice made my blood run cold. "It's for the best really."

It hadn't sunk it yet, the reality of the moment I mean.

Dad stands off to the side, his arms crossed over his bulking chest. He wasn't even looking at me.

I see the men enter the room, see their inhumanly beauty, awe-striking yet frightening at the same time.

"We just want you to get better, sweetheart."

"No…" my voice is weak at first and I grip the sheets that I had been using to cover hold up to my chest as something to anchor to now.

"Just know that we'll always love you. You can call us anytime."

The closest man grabs my foot to drag me to him and the screams ripping from my throat were inhuman, blood-curdling. My hands whip wildly around. In my terror I grabbed the blinds of my window. They instantly give; the sound of cracking plastic fills the air as I tried to hold on.

My father was the one who pried me away, allowed the men to lift me up as I continued to scream, kicking savagely, tearing at clothes, hair, skin of marble.

Skin of marble…?

I was suddenly dropped and I landed on my stomach; my chin cracks against the floor of the old kitchen which was now my remodeled bedroom. Voices exploded in my head—voices that had never been there before. Whispering, shrieking, wailing—my head bursts from it, bringing my vision into momentary darkness.

I groan, pounding my fists weakly on the linoleum until they were numb, trying to escape the pain that was bisecting my skull.

They lift me by my waist this time. I grabbed at whatever I could, flailing, screaming: bedposts…a table leg…the back of the chair…and finally the brass door knob which was ripped away from my fingers.

The hallway was harder for there was nothing to grab onto. My sweaty palms are slick against the plaster walls. I tried to dig my nails into it but they only scrapped the paint away as I was carried to the staircase.

"_Mommy, please_!" I shrieked, sobbing, my voice past hysterical. "_Mommy please don't let them take me_!"

I flail for the wood hand railing of the staircase. Splinters of wood tore into the soft flesh of my palms. My blood smears the soft white of the walls.

I catch my last glimpse of my father standing on stop of the staircase, his face expressionless, his face expressionless. I cry out for him, begging, pleading.

"_I'll be good! I'll do whatever you want me to do! I love you, Daddy! I need you to let mE stay. Tell me you love me! Tell me you love me!"_

He disappears around the corner and I seize the rounded edge, desperate to hold back from the hands that held me. "_DADDY_!"

Somehow my mother had beaten us to the door. She IS holding it open, her face etched with misery.

She didn't expect me to grab at her, her shirt, her hair, her arms…

"Mommy don't leave me! Don't let them take me away! I want to stay with you!"

The door slams in my face and, in a last desperate move, I grabbed the silver doorknob, feel it rattle as my mother struggles to lock it, feel the hammer of agony beating upon me with damaging blows that rocked me to the core…

_Pain sears my side as they stuff me into the back of the van, felt the crunch of metal as the doors were slammed shut and bolted. All light went out…_

I felt his presence behind me before I actually felt his arms wrap around me and draw me to his chest, pinning my arms against me, tucking my head against his shoulder. I feel his cold marble skin against me but this time it brought no comfort.

"You are not a monster," he whispers in my ear.

"I feel like one," I muttered in response, hiding my face in his chest.

"I know."

*****

"I don't know if I should bow down to you or run from you," Emmett called to me the moment Carlisle carried me through the door.

"Emmett that is enough!" Esme whispered dangerously in a tone I had never heard her use before.

I kept my arms wrapped in a strangle hold around Carlisle's neck and my face buried in his shirt. I was embarrassed and ashamed. What would these vampires think of me now? Would they instantly ship me off to the Volturi and or would they just kick me out the front door.

"Carlisle would never allow it, Mercy," Edward said.

I jerked, startled.

"You heard her thoughts?" Alice asked excitedly.

I clenched Carlisle's shirt in my fists.

"For the moment, yes," Edward said. I didn't want to see his face. "Her mind is the clearest that I've ever beheld so far. But there's something still there, something that clouds everything else."

"What if she has some sort of defense like I did when I was human," Bella suggested.

"No, I don't think so…this is different."

"Why don't we discuss this later," Carlisle spoke up, obviously feeling my tension. "Why don't we give her some space now."

Changed into a pair of warm, dry pajamas, Carlisle gave me a brief tour of the new house, his hand steady on my left arm as I walked stiffly, my dislocated arm in a sling, as he lead me up to my newest room.

The first room was Carlisle's and Esme's. In the center was a four-poster bed with a sheer canopy draped over the top and down the sides. Everything was in red roses and dark cherry wood.

The next room was Jasper's and Alice's, the thick carpet crushing softly under my feet. The room had bright blue morning glories painted in a border trailing up the walls. The blue bedspread, rug, towels, and curtains lent the room a cheery look.

Finally Carlisle led me to mine and I held my breath when I saw it.

It looked like something out of a story book. In the corner, a fire glowed in the fireplace, and against the wall was a white, wrought-iron daybed with a heart in the center of the back, frosted with deliciously thick down comforter. Little bunches of violets were everywhere—violets tied with pink ribbon on the wallpaper; pressed violets in small, narrow frames on the night stand; a soft blanket with embroided violets over the antique trunk at the end of the bed; and even an oval throw rug by the door with a large clump of violets in the center.

But what captured my heart was the window seat beneath the large double windows. It looked too enchanting to be real. I broke free from Carlisle and approached the seat as if it would run away if I went too fast or startled it. Gently touching the narrow, cushioned seat and fingering the lace on the violet-covered throw pillows, I decided it was indeed real and mine for however long we decided to stay.

"Do you like it?" Carlisle asked.

"It's like a fairytale," I murmured, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and exhausted. I climbed clumsily onto the seat and curled up into its soft warmth.

"Are you mad at me?" my voice was muffled by the pillows.

"Now why would you think that?" the man asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

"I ran away."

"Yes."

"I destroyed your house."

"Yes you did."

"I wanted to kill you."

"Is that so?"

"I almost did."

There was a silence then and I raised my eyes to look at Carlisle. He met my eyes with scruntiny and I felt as though he was analyzing my face. A snuffling interrupted us and I saw Duma enter the bedroom, her tail between her legs, her eyes drooping. But she perked up when she saw me and trotted over to rest her head on the window seat. I stroked her velvet head.

Finally: "I'm not mad at you."

I felt a tiny bubble of relief rise up in me which was quickly burst by reality.

"Why?"

"You didn't mean any of it."

"But I hear voices in my head. They tell me what to do. They make me do it."

"Edward thought as much."

"I almost killed you. I wanted to kill you."

"But you didn't; you fought it…and you won."

I had no answer to that. I lowered my head again, hiding my face.

"You are strong Mercy, there is no doubting that. _I've_ never doubted that."

I felt his hand on my back and his other hand stroking my hair. "I love you." He whispers above my head and a tight pain contricts my chest. But it was a good pain this time. As though I had spent a lifetime in winter and had suddenly stepped into a world of spring; filled with warmth, and sunshine, and flowers.

It was only a glimpse though, as the voices in my head stripped me of the beautiful place and shoved me back into a picture of grays, a forever of winter.

"I still wanted to kill you."

_To lose one's self is to lose one's semblance of humanity. But it is only human nature not to be able to control our demons._


End file.
